


Parenthood

by Havokftw



Series: I used to be indecisive, now I'm not sure. [11]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alpha Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Babies, Anxiety, Body Worship, Breastfeeding, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Newborn Children, Omega Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Omega Verse, Post Mpreg, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-14 12:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: The end up standing there, side by side, staring at their sleeping pups for a long time before they conclude they’re still babies and probably not going to do anything astounding during their first few days on earth.





	1. Sleep? Never heard of it.

**Author's Note:**

> For: Mi(haru)chii, who's been requesting this fic continuation the most and drew the most precious Hansol and Haru fanart that always inspires me. Thank you darling.

Hansol starts wailing the instant the cold wipes touch his skin, which is heart-breaking; but at the least, it means that Jihoon's attention fixes back on him completely and not the conversation he can see happening through the glass window between Seungcheol and the Doctor.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mutters helplessly as he fumbles his way through the cleaning and Hansol continues to scream.

A nurse takes the old diaper away and Jihoon fixes the new one in place, careful to check that the elastic isn't slipping around, that the diaper is secure, before he gently works Hansol out of the soiled sleepers and clumsily stuffs him back into a fresh pair with the nurse's guidance.

Hansol shrieks indignantly the whole time, and to Jihoon's horror he honestly can't stop apologizing until the last snap is snapped and he's able to scoop him up.

Then there’s a moment when the world stops.

Jihoon’s arms are shaking so badly he’s afraid he’s going to lose his grip; he puts a careful hand on the Hansol’s diapered backside, and another between his tiny shoulders and cradles him up against his chest, taking long, deep breaths because he feels suddenly weak from head to toe.

Hansol is warm and he smells like soap and baby powder, and Jihoon tucks his nose just above the baby’s ear and tries to remember what he’s supposed to do now.

He’s saved from having to think too long, because Hansol goes quiet and still in his arms, content just to be near him again.

"That's it," Jihoon says, stroking a hand down Hansol’s back. "That's it my chubby prince, Daddy's got you."

“Soon you’ll be doing that with your eyes shut.” The nurse tells him.

Jihoon offers her a watery smile in return.

He’s changed 4 diapers so far, and each time it’s felt like a Lord of the Rings style Quest to Mordor and back. Even just picking the babies up was a panic inducing exercise, what with their wobbly heads and weak necks and the breathless fragility of their fontanelle.

Jihoon really does hope it gets easier with time, but at least he’s a pro at the breast-feeding; his pups might be wearing lopsided diapers for a while, but they’ll always be well fed.

After a few minutes of gentle swaying, the nurse encourages Jihoon to set Hansol down for a nap.  

Jihoon’s unconvinced that Hansol's actually going to sleep now, but between implementing the blanket swaddle he remembers from the books, and finding and employing a pacifier, the baby falls asleep within fifteen minutes and doesn't so much as stir when Jihoon gingerly sets him down in the bassinet next to his little sister.

“Great.” The nurse whispers, patting him on the back. “Now, you should get some rest too. Try and sleep when they do.”

“Yeah—okay.” Jihoon says, without looking away from the bassinet.

Seungcheol comes back into the room before too long, clicking the door quietly shut behind him.  When he sees the pups sleeping in their bassinet, he smiles, fond and a little embarrassed.

“Sorry," he says, fingers curling tightly around the edge of a blanket, as if he wants to reach out, touch a tiny foot, a tiny hand, just to convince himself his pups are real, but he doesn't quite dare. “It was supposed to be my turn. Didn’t think Doc would keep me so long."

“No trouble," Jihoon promises, smothering a yawn with the back of his hand. “Out of the two of us, I definitely need more practice.”

They end up standing there, side by side, staring at their sleeping pups for a long time before they conclude they’re still babies and probably not going to do anything astounding during their first few days on earth.

“C’mon—” Seungcheol says, taking Jihoon be the elbow gently and leading him towards the bed. “I think it’s time you had a nap too.”

Jihoon makes a face at him. “Lucky for you I don’t need a diaper change.” he grouses, good-natured. 

Seungcheol grins and lifts him easily onto the bed before Jihoon can even attempt to climb it himself while he’s still achy and sore.

Seungcheol fluffs his pillow and slips it behind his back, easing him gently down. “Can I get you anything to drink? You need anymore pain relief?” He asks, brushing Jihoon's fringe off his brow.

Jihoon shakes his head against the pillow, reaching over to pat the bed next to him. The bed isn't terribly wide, but he manages to shift enough to make the invitation obvious.

Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bed, begins arranging the blanket around Jihoon’s legs, until Jihoon catches his arm.  

“What did the doctor want to speak to you about?” He asks, giving his mate a probing look.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Seungcheol’s tone pretends nonchalance, but Jihoon knows him better than that.

“Yeah _right_.” He snorts. His eyebrows draw together fiercely. “What did she have to say that concerns _you_ and not us both? If it’s about the pups, I need to know. Are they okay?”

Seungcheol breathes out a sigh, and lowers his voice. “Our pups are fine.” He assures, “I would tell you if there was something wrong.”

“Then was it about _me_?” Jihoon revises with a frown, “Oh my god, somethings wrong with me, isn’t there? Am I _dying_?”

“Jesus Christ Jihoon, no.” Seungcheol shakes his head with a half-laugh, pulling the blankets up over Jihoon’s waist. “Everything’s fine. She was just giving me some advice.” He explains.

Jihoon can’t shake the feeling he’s hedging.

“Advice she couldn’t tell you while I was in the room?” He arches an eyebrow, waiting for Seungcheol's response.

Seungcheol’s gaze goes squirrelly.

Yeah, he’s definitely hedging.

Jihoon lets out a huff of breath and narrows his eyes. “I don’t particularly like the advice she gives you. Remember the _last_ time she gave you advice? About not fucking me, and how crappy I felt about it.” He returns insistently, mouth curling at the memory. “We had sex anyway and it felt great and everything was okay. Shows what _she_ knows.”

Seungcheol refuses to meet Jihoon’s eyes. He clears his throat. “The advice _was_ sexual in nature….” He trails off, looking guiltier by the second.

Jihoon can feel the whole thing unravelling a mile a minute.

“Seungcheol—” He checks, getting abruptly impatient, “Stop hedging. _What did she tell you_?”

Seungcheol holds up his hands in playful surrender. “She just suggested that we avoid penetrative sex for a month or so.”

Jihoon can feel his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“ _Why_?” He gasps, appalled.

In the bassinet, Haru snuffles, and kicks against the blankets, but doesn’t wake.

Jihoon lowers his voice to a whisper. “I feel fine. Not that I’m _dying_ to ride you right now or anything, but I’d like to know it’s an option if I wanted.”

Seungcheol presses a kiss to Jihoon's temple, with a bemused smile, “It’s always an option puddin. It’s just that—Omega’s are very, _very_ fertile after giving birth apparently. Like— _crazy_ levels of fertile. And a lot of unplanned pregnancies happen in the month after giving birth because contraceptive pills don’t work in the face of all those hormones. Doc says the slightest penetration can get an Omega pregnant again, and unless you want to have three or more pups under the age of 1, she suggests we avoid penetrative sex for a bit.”

“Oh.” Jihoon stares, not quite believing.

He shifts on the bed, curling against Seungcheol’s side. “We’ll probably not even _have_ time for sex in the next month anyway.” He murmurs, trying not to sound disappointed.

Seungcheol nods in agreement. He winds an arm around Jihoon’s waist and strokes his hair, “Yeah, but uhm—Doc also says an Omega’s first heat after giving birth can be the most intense one you’ve ever had. It can come on suddenly, and the urge to be bred is stronger than ever. She says it kind of like an Alpha’s rut—only less aggressive and more _needy_.”

Jihoon's shoulders set, squared. “That’s crazy—I’m never needy.” He snaps, the softens a tiny bit. “Look, I know you've seen heat drive me straight out of my mind, but I can do better than that, Cheol. I’m not an inexperienced Omega anymore. I can _control_ my heat urges.”

“Well—we’ll just have to wait and see.” Seungcheol says with a bright, pleased smile that makes Jihoon's stomach feel way too warm all of a sudden.

He shouldn’t look appealing when he’s been awake 3 days straight, un-showered and un-shaved and surviving on vending machine coffee and adrenaline. It’s kind of annoying that he does.

“If anyone needs to learn self-control, it’s you Cheol. I’m perfectly in control of my hormones.” Jihoon says, injecting a little extra exasperation into his voice in an effort to cover for the way he’s nuzzling into Seungcheol’s chest.

The fabric of his shirt is soft against Jihoon’s cheek; he can smell the fading scent of detergent and the much more enticing scent of his mate. 

“Uh-huh.” Seungcheol drawls, sounding unbearably smug.

Jihoon wants to thump him.

He settles for some more nuzzling instead.

Stupid fucking hormones.

* * *

 

Seungcheol does Hansol and Haru’s car-seat buckles perfectly to the discharge nurse’s exacting standards. He hefts the carriers up off the floor and grins at Jihoon.

“Extra Large and Precious Princess, ready to meet the world.”

Jihoon frowns, “You know—our son might develop a complex if you keep calling him that,” he says.

He’s on his feet too, less wobbly than he expected, but aching and throbbing and puffy. Jihoon is generally, in fact, feeling like he expelled fourteen and a half pounds of baby just over twenty-four hours earlier. He’s not got his own body back, not by a long shot, but he can see his toes if he looks down, and no one’s feet are battering his liver.

It’s a start.

“ _Okay_ , what about King Size?” says Seungcheol, all lightness and joy and good cheer. “Or Big Mac? _Whopper_ baby.”

“Are you seriously nicknaming our son after _Burgers_?” Jihoon answers, buttoning his jacket: loose over his belly, still pulling a bit tight across the chest. His milk’s coming in pretty quick, now.

“Well—he needs a fitting nickname.” Seungcheol says, not denying it. He looks down at Hansol, his expression almost jarringly tender, for about a second, and then he's back to being highly amused by his son’s impressive plumpness. “He’s literally the biggest baby I’ve ever seen.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, “Oh c’mon. He’s not _that_ big.”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow at him. “ _Jihoon_ , he’s wearing a two-month-old size onesie I had to buy from the gift shop this morning because he literally does not fit in his new-born outfit.”

Jihoon covers a smile behind his hand and stares down at Hansol sitting snugly in his little carseat. His tiny fists are curled, mouth pursing to suck at the air like he’s already anticipating his next feed even though Jihoon fed him less than an hour ago. Even the Doctor doing the rounds had been amazed at how big he was—then doubly amazed that _Jihoon_ had been the one to give birth to him.

It's not a conscious decision; Jihoon's only aware that he's bowed down to kiss Hansol’s forehead after he's coming back up with warming cheeks. “What about—Miniature Michelin Man?”

Seungcheol’s face light up, “Aww, I like it.”

* * *

 

It’s mad sleepless low-grade chaos, back home.

The first few days are a blur of feedings, middle night scream-fests, blissfully short ‘welcome to the world’ visits and endless diaper changes. The pups sleep most of the time (though rarely when they’d like them to, or for as long as they’d wish).

The first time they bathe the pups is the most terrifying thing Jihoon's done his entire life, and that includes his first heat _and_ giving birth.

The pups are slippery when wet, impossibly smaller, and while Haru falls asleep halfway through her bath time, Hansol kicks his legs and screams bloody murder the entire time—like he’s being _tortured_. Jihoon alternates between apologizing to him and snapping at Seungcheol, as they take it in turns to prop his little body up in the baby bath recliner and swish warm soapy water into the folds of his skin.

Speaking of Seungcheol—he’s a fucking _Godsend_. Jihoon’s rock through it all. He’s a lovely workhorse, and does the washing and cleaning and cooking, and when Jihoon has a terrible series of hours in which he’s tired of being sore and swollen and overwrought, Seungcheol strokes his hair and his back and doesn’t try and take the pups from him, because they might be the source of Jihoon’s exhaustion but they’re also his best comfort, their heavy small bodies and their softly gurgling stomachs and sweet baby grunts.

“I’m so tired of being tired,” Jihoon says, lying on his side on the couch because he still can’t sit up properly, six days later.

Turns out all those baby-books he read had a pretty sketchy grasp on what Parenthood actually entails: the pre-dawn, post-midnight length of the days, sleeping and eating and  _life_  all crammed into the spare minutes. Even with two of them taking care of the pups, there's never any time, and Jihoon doesn't know how anyone manages on their own, doesn't know how  _they'd_  manage if Seungcheol wasn’t managing the family business and could take extended paternity leave.

“I’m tired of being sore.” He whines, “The baby books weren’t detailed enough. They left out the part where you get home from hospital and feel like you’ll _never_ be normal again.”

Seungcheol stops cleaning up baby sick to come over and kiss the tip of his ear. The warmth of his mouth lingers there. “It will pass. You’re doing an amazing job puddin.” He says, running his wide strong thumb up against the soft grain of Jihoon’s nape.

“Hardly,” Jihoon huffs, tucking Haru close to his chest. “I’m only surviving right now because of you. You’re doing everything.”

“I think you’re giving me _way_ too much credit Hoonie.” Seungcheol says, even as he preens at the compliment.

It’s hard for Jihoon to keep himself from getting soft with him, especially as he looks now, with dark circles under his eyes, wearing a threadbare T-shirt with baby-sick on the shoulder. Jihoon’s really nowhere near his best right now either; he’s uncaffeinated and underslept, but the entire set up is making him ridiculously affectionate in a way that he’ll probably deny later.

“You’re so modest Cheollie, but you know it’s true.” He sniffs, reaching out to stroke Seungcheol’s hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for being so good to me.”

“It’s nothing Hoonie.” says Seungcheol, as easily as though he’s handed Jihoon a pen instead of spending endless days making sure Jihoon doesn’t drop into madness from lack of sleep and a surfeit of post-pregnancy hormones.

“You’re such a good Alpha, and a good father.” Jihoon says, looking down at the Haru's dribbly chin, then over at Hansol sleeping in the cradle where he can just make out one fist curling and uncurling slowly with infant dreams. “I’m going to sign you up to one of those Alpha of the year awards.”

Seungcheol laughs, his eyes bright enough that Jihoon thinks he ought to look away or be blinded. He doesn’t, though. “There’s no such thing as an Alpha of the year award Hoonie.”

“Well there _should_ be. And you should win it.” Jihoon says, a little more fervently even than he'd intended.

Seungcheol smiles at him, soft and fond, like Jihoon’s being ridiculous and all the cuter for it.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Jihoon retorts, grinding the heel of his hand into his eye, desperately tired. “I just gave birth, okay. Six days ago. It’s the hormones talking. Stupid fucking hormones!”

He’s embarrassingly close to tearing up even though all is well: the pups are sleeping and fed, and Jihoon is on the road to recovery, and Seungcheol’s got chili on the stove and water boiling in the kettle for tea.

It doesn’t help a bit to know that it’s mostly hormones, how Jihoon is feeling. It’s actually almost worse, knowing it: one more thing outside Jihoon’s control, the stupid unquenchable flood of oxytocin that’s making his brain fire on emotions before logic.

“Yeah, well,” is all Seungcheol’s response; that, and more soft gentle stroking of fingers on skin. “But, I mean, your breasts look fucking amazing, so.”

Jihoon does finally cry a little, but he gets to cover it up with helpless giggles, and that’s better.

* * *

 

Hansol cries for Korea.

He wails like he’s been greatly wronged, like some big injustice has befallen him and it’s everyone else but Jihoon’s (and his breasts) fault. Even when he’s at his most content (during feeding time) he’s a noisy baby, making enthusiastic, happy nom, nom, nom noises as he feeds.

He's also ridiculously possessive of Jihoon. Definitely an alpha.

During feeding, he doesn’t let Seungcheol anywhere near Jihoon without kicking up a fuss—like he thinks Seungcheol might, at any moment, take Jihoon’s breasts all for himself. With the way Seungcheol _stares_ at him during said feeding times, Jihoon can’t blame Hansol for his possessiveness.

Their son is significantly more lenient with his sister however, allowing her to feed at the same time as him with only a few unhappy huffs.

Haru in contrast—doesn’t make a peep. She rarely cries or fusses, and when Jihoon holds her, she lies passively in his arms, quiet as a butterfly’s wings. Possibly she feels like Hansol complains enough for the both of them? Or maybe she’s just a freakin’ saint. Either way, she’s blessedly fuss free.

 _Too_ fuss free in Jihoon’s opinion.

She's so quiet that for the first few weeks he wakes up at night in cold sweat, terrified that she's stopped breathing. He takes to hovering over the crib at random hours during the day, just to make sure she’s okay.

Seungcheol finds them near dawn one day, on the rocking chair Seungcheol's mother insisted he bring in and which Jihoon's thankful for.

He's just fed her, not so much because she cried, rather because she blinked awake at him and his breasts were achingly full. Now he's holding her while she sleeps, his palm cupping her small diapered bottom, his elbow curved gently under the stem of her neck.

And _yeah_ —he thinks that she might be lovely and sweet and small, but really  _wobbly_  is the adjective that first comes to his mind. She seems incredibly loosely knitted together, little rubbery joints and dimpled skin and one ear slightly folded down on itself like she's a piece of clothing carelessly stowed when fresh from the dryer.

“I didn’t even hear her cry.” Seungcheol says, stumbling slowly into the nursery. His voice is soft, in deference of the hour and Haru's rest.

Jihoon knows his own hair is a sight to see; it always is, mornings before he’s showered. It’s sort of unusual, though, to see Seungcheol all rumple-headed and sleep-wrinkled. He’s got a cowlick that rivals Jihoon’s own, at the moment, and a pink pillow crease over one cheek.

“That’s because she didn’t. She’s a little _ninja_.” Jihoon says, yawning helplessly.

He looks down at Haru sleeping peacefully against his chest, then over at Hansol sprawled like a starfish in his cot, and then back at the Haru. “I suspect if I hadn’t of been standing over her, watching, she would have just laid there—staring at the ceiling in silence until Hansol woke us up.”

Seungcheol comes over and leans down over Jihoon's shoulder, more of a tired flop than a proper embrace. Then he reaches over and, oh-so-gently, brushes his fingers through the wisps of Haru’s dark hair. 

“Our sweet angel.”

“Yeah, she is.” Jihoon observes with his rumbling, tired voice. “She’s so small—and so _quiet_. Why do you think she’s so quiet, Cheol?”

“Are you complaining?” Seungcheol snorts, pushing his face into the side of Jihoon's neck. “Would you prefer us to have _two_ , squealing at all times of the day bundles?”

“No. I just—" Jihoon sighs, mildly distracted by the tickle of Seungcheol’s stubble against his skin. “Do you think it’s because she’s an Omega? Are Omega’s naturally quiet?”

“I don’t think that matters.” Seungcheol says, pausing midway through for a jaw-cracking yawn. “After all you’re an Omega and you’re hardly a paragon of quietness.”

Jihoon turns his head to scowl at him.

Seungcheol smirks, then his mouth falls open.

“Oh, my god—hold it right there. You’re both scowling at the same time and it’s the cutest shit ever. I need a picture.”

"Mm," Jihoon growls his consent, fighting back a reluctant smile as Seungcheol scrambles up to fetch his phone as quietly as possible.

He’s back in the room in a flash, snapping about a million pictures of Jihoon and Haru and their matching scowls.

Jihoon levels a threatening finger at him at the millionth and one picture. “These better not end up on Facebook, Cheol.”

Seungcheol grins. “Aw, c’mon Hoonie. The world needs to see this.” He presses, leaning over to show him one of the pictures on the phone screen—and, okay, Jihoon’s bed head aside, the picture is damn cute.

“Okay. Just that one.” Jihoon concedes gracefully, and Seungcheol’s face lights up as he gets to work, no doubt posting the picture on every social media app in _existence_.

Jihoon turns his attention back to Haru, still fast asleep on his chest. Her small mouth is slightly parted, and her back barely rises with each breath. Anxiety creeps up on Jihoon once again, dulled a little by the feel of Haru’s heart beating against his forearm, calm and steady.

“She’s okay Jihoon.” Seungcheol whispers into the silence, seemingly sensing his concern. He sets his phone down and steps closer again, leaning over them. “She’s probably just saving up all her crying and screaming for the day she’s a teenager and we don’t let her leave the house _in that skirt_ , or when I tell her she can’t date till she’s 30.”

Jihoon snorts agreement, and tips his head up to press a chaste kiss on Seungcheol’s lips.

"You should be in bed." Seungcheol whispers, eyelids droopy.

"Can't get up. There's a baby on me." Jihoon tries for an appealing look, but he's pretty sure he just ends up cross-eyed.

Seungcheol takes Haru (such strong steady hands, so confident when Jihoon's still terrified he'll drop her) and deposits her back in her crib. "Mission accomplished. Do I have to repeat myself?"

He doesn't. He _does_ have to help Jihoon up, since the lack of sleep has him a little wobbly at the knees, but he doesn't complain.

* * *

 

Jihoon, who rarely watches television at all, has mainlined whole series in the four weeks since the pups arrived. He blames Seungcheol for putting a TV in the bedroom, as well as the long mindless hours of not sleeping because the pups are not sleeping.

Jihoon honestly has no idea what’s going on in most of the shows he watches, so he opts for the episodic reality shows as often as possible. He has many favourites, but particularly enjoys anything featuring Gordon Ramsay because the man has one million opportunities per episode to shout at people and tell them they’re fucking useless and completely get away with it.

It’s a trait Jihoon aspires to, if he’s being honest.

“That man sure yells a lot,” says Seungcheol, sitting up against the headboard with Jihoon’s head on one knee and Haru balanced belly-down along his other thigh. “I’m amazed that people keep inviting him to help their failing restaurants when they know he’s just going to yell at them.”

He’s patting Haru’s back and jostling her, angling for one last post-feed burp even though Haru isn’t having any of it, fussy and windmilling her limbs and too busy grousing to bring up anything.

“They deserve it Cheol.” Jihoon murmurs against his thigh, “Anyone who uses frozen ingredients in a supposedly upscale restaurant deserves to be yelled at.”

“Yeah, but this show _must_ be scripted.” Seungcheol stifles a yawn behind his fist. “There’s no way he can call someone a ‘fat useless fuck’ in reality and get away with it.”

“Shh,” says Jihoon excitedly, “he just found mould in the fridge. He’s going to yell at someone.”

Seungcheol sensibly doesn’t question the need for silence as they both take in the sight of Gordon Ramsay yelling at everyone in a five-mile radius like he’s a drill instructor for the navy and not a professional chef helping a failing restauranteur.

Haru, less enchanted, draws her legs up and breaks the quiet with a resounding belch. “Oh, that’s my girl,” Seungcheol tells her, pleased, and gathers Haru up to turn her over, lift her and wipe her milky mouth, kiss her fattening cheeks and her head with its dark downy fluff.

“Daddy knew you had one more in there,” Seungcheol tells her smugly. “Daddy knew it, yes.”

“I do hope the pups inherit your unparalleled ability to gloat over petty triumphs,” Jihoon says, raising his head and smirking at Seungcheol. “It’s one of your most desirable traits.”

“Daddy Jihoon is just bitter because he was wrong, yes,” Seungcheol says, and wriggles his nose into Haru’s full taut belly. He pulls back, beaming, and then his leg goes tense and startled under Jihoon’s cheek. “Jihoon, look, she’s smiling at me, _look_!”

“It’s just wind,” Jihoon drawls, but he sits up anyway, has a look. “Oh,” he says, seeing, “it’s not wind. Are you smiling at Daddy? Are you?”

“She’s _smiling_ at me,” Seungcheol says, amazed. “Princess, you’re smiling at me.”

Jihoon mutes the TV and settles in against Seungcheol’s side, because making Haru smile is far more interesting than Gordon Ramsay flaying people alive.

They take turns at it, and Haru obliges them over and over, like she hasn’t spent the first month of her life scowling continuously. She’s got faint proto-dimple dents framing her tiny mouth, it turns out: one more way in which he is undeniably Jihoon’s tiny clone.

Some time later Jihoon wakes, not sure when he drifted off. Seungcheol is climbing back into bed. He flings his arm and leg over Jihoon for warmth, burrowing in close.

“’s-she?” Jihoon asks blearily.

“Sleeping in the bassinet,” Seungcheol answers, not needing a translation. “Down for the count.”

Jihoon makes a noise of understanding and drops his head back onto the pillow.

He means to drop off immediately, but his mind doesn't want to settle down, piqued a little by Seungcheol—the sound of his voice, the surprisingly sensual quality of it, low and sleepy. Oh, _and_ the unmistakable hardness he can feel rubbing against the cleft of his ass.

A year ago – a month ago – Jihoon wouldn't have been able to help sliding a hand down under the waistband of his boxers, palming the hard curve of Seungcheol’s cock. Now though—with exhaustion weighing heavy in his body, his strong mate curled up behind him, he finds….absolutely nothing’s changed.

He’s ridiculously aroused all of a sudden.  

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” He murmurs, pushing his ass back against the hard length he can feel there.

Seungcheol’s quiet for a moment, then he chuckles under his breath. He slides a hand into the pocket of his joggers and suddenly the hard length Jihoon had felt _moves_ , and Seungcheol is pulling the remote from his pocket.

“It’s the remote actually.” Seungcheol says, waving it into view before letting it drop over the side of the bed.

Jihoon pouts.

"You know," He begins, voicing the idea before it's really even formed. "Never mind."

"Hmm, no, go on," Seungcheol says, nudging him lightly. "I'm listening, puddin."

Jihoon turns so he's facing him, not quite sure even what he'd meant to say. Seungcheol’s mouth is so beautiful. His cheek has a pillow crease running over it at an angle. "Just, I was thinking it’s been a while and”—

Seungcheol waits, patient if sleepy.

Jihoon lets his hand drift down Seungcheol’s bare chest to his crotch, listens for the small intake of breath as he cups him through the fabric.

Seungcheol's body takes immediate notice, and Jihoon can't quite suppress a happy moan as he feels his mate’s cock leap respectfully to attention.

“Whattcha doing puddin?” Seungcheol chuckles, and even in the relative darkness, Jihoon can see his toothy grin.

Jihoon curves into the warm bulk of him, burying his nose against his bicep. Feeling daring, he slips his hand under the waistband of Seungcheol’s joggers, curls a tight fist around his cock and pulls a broken moan from Seungcheol’s mouth.

“Just inspecting the merchandise.”  

Seungcheol growls. His upper arm comes around Jihoon's waist, drags Jihoon in closer with his usual predatory ease. Jihoon ducks his head into the curve between Seungcheol's shoulder and neck, rubbing his lips over the skin under Seungcheol’s jaw, scratchy and warm and familiar.

For some people, the onset of a heat is a gradual burn, something relatively painless to ease into. Jihoon’s never been so lucky, and the hormonal desperation hits him suddenly.

Sweat breaks out along his hairline, starting to bead on the back of his neck. He can feel it happening already, the way his body prepares itself to be filled, taken, _claimed_.

“Cheol—please.” He gasps, clawing at Seungcheol’s broad shoulders.

Seungcheol’s helps him out of his t-shirt, while he yanks down his pants and underwear, leaving himself exposed. The air is a sudden coolness on his sweaty skin, and he pushes closer to Seungcheol, where it’s warm, hips bucking of their own accord.   

Seungcheol’s palm slides down to the small of his back, holding Jihoon steady as he lazily grinds against him.

“Jihoon—” Seungcheol murmurs, when Jihoon reaches for his cock hungrily.

Jihoon’s surprised to feel a hand cup the edge of his jaw firmly. Seungcheol’s tone turns serious. “Remember what the doc said—no penetrative sex.”

The thought skips and stutters through Jihoon’s mind, something too complicated for his current mental state of  _Seungcheol. Now_. He ignores it, tries instead to figure out how to get Seungcheol to fuck him quickest.

 _Can’t,_  that damned thought whispers. Jihoon shakes his head, pressing his mouth into Seungcheol’s skin, his scent heady when Jihoon breathes him in. It’s too much, he can’t be expected to think when faced with  _this_.

“I don’t care what she said. I want your cock.” He fastens his mouth at the juncture of Seungcheol’s neck and shoulder. It settles him somewhat, the taste of his mate in his mouth, and it gives him an idea.

He throws his leg over Seungcheol’s hip to get a better angle, but then Seungcheol’s rolling them over, yanking his pyjama bottoms down and out of the way completely, and pressing Jihoon into the mattress.

It takes Jihoon’s breath away, slowly and literally, but that’s okay. He can do without air for a few moments, if it means proximity and heat and  _Seungcheol_.

Seungcheol takes Jihoon’s face in his hands and kisses him thoroughly. “It’s okay. Got it, pet, don’t you worry.”

So controlled, when Jihoon can’t even speak anymore. Jihoon would be righteously pissed if he had the brainpower to spare.

Then Seungcheol’s fingers are rubbing at his entrance, hot and rough, slipping in. Jihoon throws his head back, arches to take them in further. The wetness overflows, sliding down his thighs.

“Oh—god.” He gasps, reaching down to grab Seungcheol’s wrist and force his fingers deeper until they touch a spot that makes Jihoon sob. Then he does it again. “Oh fuck, yeah, like that,  _please_.”

“ _Fuck_. How can you be so wet already?” Seungcheol whispers in awe, spreading his fingers as Jihoon pushes them deeper.

“Yes, yes—more.” Jihoon says, hissing as Seungcheol slides a third finger in.

Seungcheol moves up for a kiss, licks a trickle of sweat from his cheek before sealing his mouth over Jihoon’s.

Jihoon’s ready now.

More than ready. His ass is clenching tight with each stroke inside, trying to pull Seungcheol’s fingers in. But Seungcheol doesn’t seem to be getting the urgency here—he just keeps working him with his fingers, pulling them out slowly only to drive them back in.

“What are you doing?” Jihoon says, grinding down onto Seungcheol’s hand.

Seungcheol takes his cock in hand and begins to work him up and down, “Fingering you through this, because I can’t fuck you like I want to.” He says, holding his fingers still and stroking down the sweat-streaked skin of Jihoon’s thigh.

“No, no, no,” Jihoon thrashes, shoving Seungcheol’s hand away and scrambling to sit up.

“You don’t like it?” Seungcheol sits back up too, circling his hands around Jihoon’s ankles and rubbing at the bone just under the slick skin. 

“I do, I just...” Jihoon lifts a shaky hand to rake through his hair,. “I just want...”

Everything seems so sharp, so  _dense_ , but Jihoon knows it’s an illusion. He’s not thinking clearly. This notion is supported by the way he’s suddenly developed his own form of tunnel vision. Tunnel vision for Seungcheol’s dick.

He surges forward so fast Seungcheol only barely catches his balance and stops them both from falling backwards. Jihoon straddles his hips, rubbing up against his skin everywhere they touch, panting in his ear.

“I want you inside me,” he whispers, rolling his hips in a way that rubs the slick cleft of his ass against Seungcheol’s cock. “I fucking  _need_  you inside me, right now.”

Seungcheol sucks in a breath and steadies his hands on Jihoon’s hips. “You’re killing me,” he says, licking at Jihoon’s throat, biting at the mating mark on his neck. “You know I want it, Puddin, but fuck—we can’t.”

Jihoon whimpers then, a pitiful sound as he lifts his hips and rubs down, teasing dangerously close. If Seungcheol pushed on his hips, he could slide him down onto his cock.

It’d be effortless, and oh fuck, there’s no reason why the can’t.

“Jihoon—puddin.” Seungcheol says, appealingly, “I need you to work with me here. You’re super fertile right now. The doc said you could get pregnant _just_ from penetration.”

Through the cloud of his thoughts Jihoon is vaguely away of Seungcheol trying to talk sense into him. If he’s being honest, Jihoon has no fucking idea what he’s doing, coasting on adrenaline and lust. He just knows that there’s a fire licking up his spine and a burn coursing through his veins and Seungcheol’s cock will be his only relief.

Jihoon takes in a shaky breath. “So we’ll have more pups. Put one in me!” He says desperately.

He can practically _see_ the moment Seungcheol’s eyes glaze over, shimmering with heat. Then the Alpha’s on him, making a low growling noise and rolling them back down onto the rumpled blankets.

“ _Pups_.” he grunts, a second before he kisses Jihoon, hard and claiming, stringing a line of love bites along his throat.

“Hn-yes. Yes—” Jihoon gasps, running his hands over Seungcheol’s face, down his back. He leaves his hand where it is on Seungcheol’s back and rests the other one on Seungcheol’s neck, arching up and letting out a small moan as Seungcheol growls into his open mouth.

Most times when they make love, it is a slow, gliding tease. Or a sweaty, athletic marathon. But on nights like this, when Seungcheol’s primal streak comes out, he gets desperate to be inside Jihoon, and the sex is fast and searing and frantic. And that’s exactly how Jihoon wants it now. Nothing softened or held back. The sheer ferocity of connection that burns everything else away.

When Seungcheol finally settles between his legs, Jihoon thinks of objecting, except he can’t remember  _why_  he needs to. He’s sure there’s a good reason, if only he could recall it.

Seungcheol is too out of it to mind in any case, his eyes wide and unfocused, as he hooks Jihoon’s legs over his shoulders and lines up his cock.

They both snap out of it about two seconds later, at the sound of Hansol’s crying coming from the other room.

Jihoon's pretty sure he's got whiplash from how quickly his head snaps up, and Seungcheol too has frozen above him, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi.

It’s almost like a light switch—incredibly turned on, and then _off_.

"Fucking fuck," says Seungcheol feelingly, scrambling away on his knees and hiking his joggers up in a flash.

“Uhm—” Jihoon blinks, glancing down at himself with realisation at _what the fuck_ they were just about to do. He'll move his body into a less compromising position momentarily—just as soon as his limbs go back to responding to his commands. His body is still warm all over, and he can feel the trickle of slick seeping out of his hole—but his priorities have suddenly taken a backseat at the sound of his pup crying.

"Better go see to him before he wakes the Princess," Seungcheol mutters, and the mattress heaves, and then there's the thump of his bare feet hitting the floor.

Jihoon groans and slumps against the pillow—body dropping in temperature so rapidly goose-bumps prickle all over his skin.

"What's the trouble, little man?” Jihoon hears Seungcheol consoling Hansol from down the corridor. “Spat out your dummy, here—let me fix that for you. There, there—that’s my boy."

Jihoon takes a long calming breath and wills himself to relax.

Everything, the sheets and the pillow and the very air, it all smells like Seungcheol. So he lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to breathe it in too deeply. Ignoring his hard-on—which is not too difficult, considering it's vanishing pretty damn quickly at both the interruption and the fact that Seungcheol’s not in the room—he fishes his discarded T-shirt off the floor and yanks it over his head.

Oh— _God_. What the fuck was he _thinking_?

Had he actually asked Seungcheol to….

 _Fuck_. He did, didn’t he.

He sighs and turns onto his side, settling down to sleep—but his shoulders are a rigid line and his pulse is beating a racket in his chest.

When he sits up again, Seungcheol has returned and is leaning in the doorway. His gaze is even and calm, but Jihoon can see the tension at the corners of his mouth.

“Sol lost his dummy, but he went right back to sleep.”

Jihoon nods, biting his lip. And he should really, you know, offer some kind of preamble, but he's having some trouble controlling his impulses tonight, especially when every sensible thought is promptly derailed by the sight of his mate, leaning shirtless in the doorway.

He searches for something to say, and ends up blurting, “Don’t lean against the door like that—it looks unbearably sexy.”

Seungcheol comes closer, looking almost tentative. He sits on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under his thigh. “You seem a little, uhm, more in _control_ now. Are you having second thoughts about me….putting one in you?”

“Oh god—” Jihoon groans, hands coming up to frame his face, embarrassed now that his mind is clearing up a little.

There is a silence. Then Seungcheol laughs, a little nervously, and says, “Yeah, I thought so.”

Jihoon looks up at his through the spaces between his fingers. “I don’t know what came over me, Cheol.” He murmurs as solemnly as he can manage, letting his hands drop to clench at the bedding. “All I wanted was….It was suddenly like my first heat all over again.”

“I’ll say.” Seungcheol grins. He reaches a hand down to wipe the smear of slick glistening on the bed-sheets, then follows the wet trail with his fingertips, stroking up the skin between Jihoon’s thighs. His voice goes low and raspy. “You haven’t gotten this wet in _ages_.”

“Cheol don’t!” Jihoon moans, curling his toes in the bedsheets even as he spreads his legs to offer more. “Don’t tempt me. I’m barely holding on as it is.”

“Sorry.” Seungcheol says, shifting away from blind staring tunnel vision into something like his usual animation, drawing back enough to gaze adoringly at Jihoon. “It’s just….you smell fucking amazing right now and I _know_ it’s crazy, but for a moment I was so tempted just to go along with it. Actually get you pregnant again.”

Jihoon can’t say he blames him.

For a few crazy minutes back there, that’s all he wanted too.

“You tried to talk some sense into me, I just—I guess I forgot how desperate I get during my heats.” Jihoon says, looking away.

Seungcheol’s hands cup his face firmly, lifting it. Jihoon sighs a breathy sound as he leans in and presses their mouths together sweetly if not entirely certain. The kiss is annoyingly brief, but the touch helps, eases Jihoon’s breathing and settles the tremor in his hands.

“We can hold out, just a few months to be safe.” Seungcheol murmurs against Jihoon’s mouth.

Jihoon closes his eyes, feeling his entire body heat again with Seungcheol’s renewed proximity. “Then what?”

Seungcheol leans their foreheads together, snakes his hand around the back of Jihoon’s neck and holds him there so he can kiss him again, longer this time. A promise.

“Then I’ll book us a hotel room, get my parents to babysit so there will be nothing to distract us, and I’ll fuck you raw. Knot you over and over, fill you up real good.”

The suggestion sends a hot little shiver down Jihoon’s spine, makes him want to roll over onto his hands and knees, thrust his ass out and _beg_.

But Seungcheol’s right—they can wait.

They have to.

Now would be a _really_ irresponsible and stupid time to get pregnant again.

* * *

 

It's a specialized kind of insanity that comes of being cooped up with an infant for days and weeks on end, spending almost all your waking hours tending to the needs of someone whose communication is severely lacking in nuance.

Jihoon knows he's gone around the bend a little when he turns to Seungcheol one Friday evening and says, “I just realised—twinkle twinkle little star and the Alphabet song have the same tune."

Seungcheol makes a face at him, like he can’t believe he just asked that and managed to sound serious about it.

“That’s it, we need to get out of the house!” says Seungcheol, and his tone brooks no opposition.

He prepares for the expedition with his usual Seungcheolian efficiency, packing diapers and wipes and emergency pacifiers and every bit of baby paraphernalia they can fit into the shoulder carry. They’ll want for nothing with the nappy bag Seungcheol’s prepared.

Jihoon, who resigned himself to spending another day breastfeeding and juggling two infants on the couch, fusses with the baby wrap and tries not to show how embarrassingly excited he is to leave the house now that Seungcheol’s put the idea in his head.

Yeah, sure, they’ve been out of the house before. But it’s only been back and forth to the nurse’s office for weigh-ins, not an expedition with no other purpose than to be out of the house.

They walk to the park, taking their time, and when they get there Jihoon sits on a bench and feeds Hansol and feels gloriously, deliriously relieved to be a part of the world again.

Seungcheol cradles a sleeping Haru and finds a burp cloth in the nappy bag before Jihoon even needs to ask for it, then lays out a blanket on the grass so they can have a picnic. It’s all wonderfully mundane and perfect.

“I think that’s the Omega from the baby class we took.” Jihoon says, squinting at said Omega jogging around the path. “Look at her out running like she didn’t just give birth to triplets a month ago!”

But Seungcheol isn't listening. He's looking grim-faced out at the distance as he holds Hansol. He’s got him cradled up against his shoulder and swaddled in blankets and a knitted hat that has an owl face on it. Haru’s back in the stroller, sleeping and scowling as per usual. Jihoon loves them both to distraction. 

“You’ve been weirdly quiet today, what’s up?” Jihoon asks, after the worried frown on Seungcheol’s face doesn’t subside.

Seungcheol shakes himself out of it and meets Jihoon's eyes, warm and concerned.

“Ah—I guess I’m feeling a little low. My paternity leave ends next week.”

Jihoon experiences a sudden, sinking feeling.

“Already?” He answers, hearing his own voice taut and a little too low, “But it’s only been a…”

“A _month_.” Seungcheol adds pointedly.

“Holy shit. It’s been a _month_.” Jihoon whispers with dawning realisation, and his face must change for all he's trying to keep it neutral, because Seungcheol eyes go soft and worried at once. “The babies are a month old Seungcheol. _A month old_. That went by freakishly fast.”

“I know.” Seungcheol hums thoughtfully.

Jihoon worries at his lower lip as he glances over from one pup to the other. “We need to treasure these moments. A month went by without us realising it, in no time they’ll be crawling and walking and going off to university and having babies of their own. Oh god.”

Seungcheol takes a deep breath and exhales, smiling crookedly. “You kind of jumped a few decades there, but _yeah_ , I know what you mean.”

Hansol begins to protest, in his own quiet way, about waking up and finding himself no longer attached to Jihoon’s breast. Like if he happens to fall asleep mid feed, how dare they not just leave him there.

Jihoon stares at him in Seungcheol’s arms, squirming and fussing and vigorously, furiously alive. His pulse slams wildly in his throat as terror grips him suddenly.

Here are his pups, life so new that their entire universe comprises only the six inches immediately in front of their face, so raw and fresh that their only way of interacting is to squall. Jihoon loves them both so much already, but — _but is it enough?_ It can't be enough; they deserve infinite adoration, patience and tenderness, and from a parent who is competent and capable and protects them at all costs.

Jihoon fears that he's already failing them there, and they’ve barely just arrived.

Seungcheol can't leave him alone with this. He can't.

Jihoon's not sure how long he's frozen like this, but eventually he blinks his way back to the present and hastens to unbutton his shirt and let Hansol feed.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Seungcheol says, like he can tell that Jihoon's coming off the tail end of a very quiet panic attack. 

Jihoon is still for a moment and then he nods a little roughly, swallowing. “I know, I know. I just—I always figured when the pups came, I’d be ready. That the whole parenting thing would come naturally to me when I held them, and I’d just _know_ what to do. But every step has been like—holy shit what am I doing, am I doing it right?”

It comes out  _wrong_ , quiet and unsure and almost scared, and Jihoon regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth. "Oh  _fuck_ , Jesus, nevermind--"

" _Jihoonie_ ," Seungcheol says quietly. He palms Jihoon's cheek, forces Jihoon to look at him. "I feel the same way."

“Really?” Jihoon says doubtfully, easing Hansol off and turning him round, getting him settled on Jihoon’s other side to feed. “Cause you seem so confident with everything you do Cheol. It’s kind of amazing how good you are at all of this. I’m pretty jealous.”

Seungcheol appears utterly blindsided by this, although in a good way.

“I’m flattered Jihoon, but honestly, I’m winging it. I mean—yes,” Seungcheol spreads his arms. “I read the baby books and took classes, but all that info flew out of my head the first time I held them. I’m freaking out every moment of the day, but I’m not going to beat myself up about it. That’s normal. My mum says, all first-time parents go through the same thing. The only thing that comes naturally is how much you love them, we gotta learn everything else.”

Jihoon quirks his mouth and looks over at Seungcheol, struck by his ease, how he can show his flaws to the world and make them sparkle. He's so relieved not to be the only one with parental anxiety he's practically light-headed.

“You always know what to say to make me feel better, Cheollie. Fuck, I love you so much.”

Seungcheol blinks very hard, his eyes suspiciously bright, and later, Jihoon knows, he'll claim it was just a manly stray eyelash, and Jihoon will tease him about it. Right now, though, Seungcheol puts his arm around Jihoon and lays a string of kisses to the top of his head.

“Look,” He murmurs against Jihoon’s temple. “The company’s in a good position at the moment, I can take a few more weeks off and—”

Jihoon shakes his head, turns to look at him. “No, no. Don’t be silly. You go back to work. You _have_ to. We need to get back to a normal routine and I need to start managing the pups without you around. If you take any more time off, I’ll just get used to you being in the house all day and it’ll make it harder when you’re forced to go back.”

Seungcheol smiles at him, warm and kind and so fucking  _honest_  that Jihoon could die, “I’ll be a phone call away if you need me. And my parents are just around the corner too.”

Jihoon nods understandingly, “It will be okay, Cheol. Besides, I have my own carbon copy of you now, I probably won’t even notice your absence.” He says, bumping his shoulder into Seungcheol’s.

Seungcheol laughs and rests his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder, gives Hansol a long look of scrutiny. “You really think he looks like me?”

“Are you _kidding_?” Jihoon gasps, looking down at Hansol curled close to his body, his enthusiastic small mouth and precious sticking-out Seungcheolian ears, his dark navy blue eyes and ferocious unrelenting grip on Jihoon’s breast. 

“Look at his ears. Look at his eyes and his teeny nose. Look at how he’s _clinging_ to me. He’s totally you in miniature.” Jihoon says, not a little fondly.

Seungcheol can't quite conceal his pride that his son takes after him in the _‘possessive over Jihoon’_ department.

* * *

 

So Seungcheol goes back to work, and it’s fine, it’s totally fine. Jihoon and the twins have a routine, now.

They have all the neighbourhood Omega’s battering down the door wanting a go at holding the babies because they’ve still got novelty on their side even if they’ve officially lost their newborn status. Jihoon has season three of Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares to watch and he’s got a stack of baby books to read.

He’s fine, he’s totally fine.

Except when he’s _not_ fine—when Haru burps up every single feed and Hansol screams bloody murder the minute Jihoon sets him down, and Jihoon’s yelling down the phone at telemarketers who wake the pups from their nap.

It’ll get easier. He knows. But when it’s harder—Seungcheol’s a sympathetic ear on the other end of the line—listening as Jihoon yells at him too.

* * *

 

Seungcheol is distracted.

He’s trying so hard not to be—or, at least, he’s trying not to let anyone see that he is—but he is.  It’s honestly not his fault; it’s hard being back at work, after weeks off spent with just Jihoon and the pups, their own little not-quite nuclear family.

He’s pouring so much focus into the files on his desk that when his phone goes off—the merry little chime of a text message that Seungcheol actively loves—he jumps and nearly falls out of his chair. Thankfully, it’s not an S.O.S requesting back-up, just a picture message—but Seungcheol is totally unprepared for what he sees when he opens it.

The screen is dominated by Hansol and Haru’s round little faces, their big bright eyes looking up at the camera. They look wide awake, lying next to each other in the crib, possibly post feed, but the most important detail is—they’re wearing the matching Teddy-Bear onesies Seungcheol had bought them and that Jihoon _hates_ on principle.

Seungcheol has trouble coordinating his fingers to type out a text.

_‘I thought you hated matching clothes? I thought you hated baby clothes with ears?’_

Half a moment later, Jihoon sends back,  _‘Ran out of clean onesies. I had no choice’_  accompanied by another picture of the twins sleeping in their onesies, hoods pulled up to show the fluffy ears.

Seungcheol’s heart does something unexplainable—leaping with joy at the sight of his precious pups, even as it tightens with the longing to  _be there_  to see it first hand.

 _If it pains you so much. I packed spare onesies in the airing cupboard this morning—_ Seungcheol texts back at last. 

 _They’re sleeping. I’m not changing their clothes now_.—Jihoon sends back.

Seungcheol thinks that’s the end of it, but a few minutes later, he gets one more message; this one is a Selca, obviously taken before the pups fell asleep, with Jihoon lying on the bed beside them. The picture is a little crooked, dominated by little Haru’s deep blue eyes and Hansol’s enormous chipmunk cheeks; but it’s captured what could almost be called a smile on Jihoon’s face, and there’s no denying that it makes Seungcheol’s heart miss a beat.

The caption reads: _‘Not gonna lie. These onesies are cute as fuck. Remind me to thank Soonyoung + Seokmin for buying them.’_

Seungcheol grins hugely, unable to resist typing back: _‘Not gonna lie either. I’m the one who bought them.’_

Jihoon’s reply is immediate _. ‘I KNEW IT!’_

Within five minutes, the Selca is not only the background on Seungcheol’s phone, but on his office computer as well. 

Work doesn’t seem quite as awful, after that.

* * *

 

"Keep your hand here," is what Jihoon says when Seungcheol wakes to the feeling of his sleep-heavy arm being lifted up from the mattress and lowered again. "I'll be right back."

Seungcheol doesn't bother opening his eyes; he knows the warm soft shape under his palm, the little sway of lower back, the sweet-quick in-out of baby breathing.

Hansol is awake, and tetchy too. Seungcheol can feel how he's churning his arms and legs, the motion transmitted into his hand by the jerking of his back, and now he's adding a series of increasingly annoyed fussy sounds to the mix.

"Shh," Seungcheol exhales drowsily, patting and circling his fingers. "Dada's getting your bottle."

Hansol coughs irritably and then launches into a full-throated wail without any other preamble.

Seungcheol peels his eyes open and sighs, reaching over with his other hand to pull Hansol towards him.

He'll have none of it, screwing up his face and shrieking indignantly.

"I know I’m your least favourite family member, but us Alpha’s gotta stick together yanno, or these clever Omega’s will walk all over us," Seungcheol tells him as he locates his pacifier dangling off a clip that's fastened to his sleeper.

Hansol's already almost too worked up to take it, but Seungcheol is stubborn and holds the pacifier in place while he cries and carries on and eventually takes a few reluctant sucks before settling down to it, blinking dark reproachful teary eyes at Seungcheol.

 _"I know, I know_ —you’re hungry. Dada's going as fast as he can," Seungcheol says, even though he has no idea if this is true.

It probably isn’t. Jihoon straight out of bed tends to be a bit slow to action.

Seungcheol himself lost his ability to wake for infant fussing somewhere around month three, especially knowing that Jihoon can and will thump him until he wakes up and takes his turn feeding the pups.

Hansol sucks and stares and lets go of a few shaky sighs. Seungcheol pulls him a little closer so he can kiss the tip of his nose, then his chin, then each of his soft, chubby cheeks in turn. Hansol bears it stoically; he’s usually more resistant to Seungcheol’s love than Haru.

"Christ, what a night," says Jihoon, wandering back into the room with a half-full bottle. His pyjama bottoms cling to his slender hips, and his hair pointing in every direction as he yawns obscenely. "People should be born with teeth. This is bullshit."

He steps right onto the bed to cross over to his side instead of walking around it, a sort of low-level sleep-deprived parkour, before dropping to the mattress and hoisting Hansol out of Seungcheol’s arms.  

Seungcheol quirks a questioning brow at the half bottle in his hand. “You only made up half a bottle? Have you seen the size of our son? He’ll want more than that.”

“I’m pre-empting the mess he’ll make when he _inevitably_ spits it all out again.” Jihoon huffs, taking the pacifier from Hansol's mouth and trading it out for the bottle nipple. “I didn’t just wake up you know, I’ve been awake for the last _hour_ —trying to get him to take it.”

As if on cue, Hansol jerks his head to the side and the little bit of formula they almost tricked him into taking dribbles out. He’s obviously convinced there must be something _better_ on offer.

Sadly, there isn’t.

Life had been pretty awesome for the pups the first couple of months after their birth because Jihoon still had lovely little breasts that they could feed from. But the Omega was too slight for that to go on indefinitely, and he couldn't force himself to eat enough calories throughout the day to compensate for producing that much milk. As a result, Jihoon’s chest is flat again — the small swells having vanished virtually overnight — and the poor pups have been reduced to formula.

Haru couldn’t care less—having happily accepted a bottle from day one like the fuss free baby she is.

Hansol on the other hand, is decidedly less satisfied about the arrangement. 

“Please—please take the bottle Sollie.” Jihoon coos, trying to coax the rubber nipple back between Hansol’s gums.

Hansol makes a sharp, angry noise that sounds like the baby equivalent of _NEVER_! He keeps on flailing, and lets out a hiccupy sob and then another, a warm up for the truly fierce howling that soon follows.

"Oh, god—I’ve tried everything,” Jihoon sighs, wiping at Hansol’s chin. “He hates the bottle! He just wants my breasts."

Seungcheol just barely stops himself from saying _‘Me too’_ , and instead opts to be helpful. "Come here. Give him to me for a bit."

Eagerly holding out his hands, he grins when Jihoon lowers his son into his arms, only for Hansol to start complaining, loudly. He goes suddenly squirmy, what Seungcheol calls his unhappy eel dance, turning his head this way and that, doing his best to break free of the prison of his arms.

"Yeah, yeah—we know, we know. You love Dada more than me, but remember what we talked about.” Seungcheol lowers his voice confidentially, cuddling Hansol closer, hand cupping the back of his head. “Us Alpha’s gotta stick together." He winks, laughing when Jihoon smacks the back of his head — _lightly_.

He’s holding the baby, after all.

"Gimme the bottle. Let me try," Seungcheol says, holding out his hand for the bottle. 

“Good luck.” Jihoon snorts, but hands it over immediately, probably grateful for a break.

Gently, Seungcheol presses the nipple against Hansol's lips, and the baby immediately starts to fuss.

"Shhh, I know," he soothes, using his softest tone. "I prefered the real thing myself."

"Gross Cheol. You're talking to your _son_ ," Jihoon points out, though he’s smirking and Seungcheol can tell he secretly likes the compliment.

"I’m just sympathising with him. He’s going through boob withdrawal the poor fella,” Seungcheol smirks, and then beams when the Hansol finally opens his mouth and starts suckling. “Oh shit, I did it. I did it! I’m the best father ever!"

Jihoon looks annoyed as Hansol kicks his feet a bit and goes to town on the bottle. "Unbelievable. I was trying to get him to do that all night," he scowls.

“I guess you could say I’m the _baby_ whisperer.” Seungcheol says, with considerable satisfaction.

Jihoon levels him a flat look. “Well then _baby whisperer_ —you can do the nightly feeds from now on.”

Seungcheol smirks. “My pleasure.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, but curls up at Seungcheol’s side, watching Hansol feed with a blissful, relieved look on his face.

“I was speaking to your mum about the local Nursery.” He whispers after a moment of quiet staring. “She says it’s good and she knows the lady who runs it, can get us places on the waiting list.”

“A waiting list—for _nursery_?” says Seungcheol, startled and blinking. 

Jihoon frowns and sits up a little. “Yeah—that’s a _thing_ Cheol. There’s only a few in the area and they all have waiting lists.”

He toys with Hansol's foot, and Hansol kicks at his hand, as if he doesn't appreciate being bothered while he's eating.

“The competition for places is pretty intense actually. Some parents have their kids enlisted before they’re even _born_.”

“ _Enlisted_? They’re not even 3 months old and they’re being _enlisted_ into things. They’re babies, not soldiers.” Seungcheol laughs.

Hansol is trying to hold the bottle now, but he's not very good at it, gripping it too close to the top and with both hands on the one side.

“A good nursery can make a world of difference Cheol.” Jihoon continues earnestly, ignoring Seungcheol's sarcasm. “How they develop can determine what playschool they get into, and then what pre-school and that determines what school options they have later. We have to start thinking about that stuff _now_.”

“Like parents don’t have enough stuff to worry about,” Seungcheol says; idly trying to rearrange Hansol's grip but without success.

Soon the bottle is down to the last few millilitres, and Seungcheol pulls the it free, uses the bib to try and mop up the mess of Hansol’s chin and neck. Hansol frowns up at him as though trying to figure out who the hell he is and where the hell is food went, and Seungcheol laughs without meaning to.

“You sure love your food, eh Champ?”

Hansol lets out a fairly resounding belch for someone so small. It seems to say _‘yes—what of it?’_

“That’s my boy.” Seungcheol grins, cradling him neatly in the bend of his arm.

He expects Hansol to start fussing soon enough, try to make a grab for Jihoon’s comforting Omega scent. But surprisingly Hansol settles with him; lays contently in Seungcheol’s arms, hands clutched together so it looks like he’s praying.

Probably praying for another bottle.

"We’ll try for another hour of sleep." Jihoon says, drifting now, half under the covers and spread every which way.

"I doubt he’ll sleep again now," Seungcheol says grimly. "It's getting light out. He's solar powered."

"He'll sleep if you keep him here and rest him on your chest," Jihoon answers through a yawn.

"No. That’s how _accidents_ happen.” Seungcheol protests, even as shifts Hansol to lay on his chest and scoots down the bed to get horizontal. “You of all people know how I move in my sleep."

"I promise I won't let you roll over on him by accident," Jihoon says.

Seungcheol shakes his head, laughing. "You’re half asleep Jihoon. You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can," Jihoon says on a tired little sigh. "I’ll wrap my arm around you and I'll punch you if you move."

"Wow. The romance never dies," Seungcheol says dryly.

"Go on, just this once," Jihoon says, throwing his arm over Seungcheol's waist. "Think of it: sixty more minutes."

Seungcheol thinks of it.

Now that he's full, Hansol is dozing, drooling on Seungcheol's t-shirt. His eyes have already slipped shut, round body sprawled across Seungcheol's chest, his little milky breaths snuffling into his Daddy's neck. Seungcheol cups a hand around his diapered bottom and lets his eyes shut too.  

"Yeah, okay," he says, well aware that he's in no state to make important decisions. "Just this once. And promise you'll punch me."

"It will be my honour," Jihoon answers, pressing a kiss to Hansol’s head and then pillowing his own on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

* * *

 

“That’s weird. The mailman just left this at the door without ringing the bell,” Seungcheol says, coming back from the front door with a parcel in his hands.

Three and half months into parenthood, and they’re still getting gifts for the pups. Every other day the mailman is knocking on their door with another gift from some relative Seungcheol’s never heard of, but his mother assures him exists. Clothes, and toys and care packages with baby oil and baby soap and probably baby dishwasher liquid for all Seungcheol knows. 

Jihoon’s in the kitchen, spooning yams into Hansol and Haru’s mouths. Haru’s wrinkling her nose after every mouthful, and while Hansol seems delighted, he’s mostly just spitting them back down his chin as fast as Jihoon can get them in.

“Ooh, what is it?” Jihoon asks, wiping his hands on a bib. “More gifts for my babies.”

“Yeah—I _guess_.” Seungcheol says, distractedly as he turns the parcel over in his hands.

It’s noticeably lacking a postage stamp, or courier barcode of any kind. It doesn’t even have their address anywhere on the packaging, so some well-wisher must have delivered it by hand. It could also be a bag of shit—or, heaven forbid, a _bomb_ —that Seungcheol has just unwittingly and stupidly brought into the house.

Except that it _probably_ isn’t, because whatever’s inside the brown paper packaging squashes easily under his hand and bounces back out again.  

Jihoon sets down the little rubber spoon, much to the twin’s dismay and pulls at the brown paper. “Well—open it up.”

Seungcheol ignores the unsettled feeling in his gut in favour of tearing open the package. There’s a blanket nestled within layers of tissue paper — but it’s not an ordinary blanket. It’s a hand-knitted, baby-blue blanket, dotted with white sheep and a L-J motif stitched on one corner. From the slight yellowing of the white stitching, Seungcheol can tell it’s not new.

“It’s a baby blanket, but don’t think it’s new.” he tells Jihoon, showing him. “Who would send us an old blanket?”

Jihoon looks almost paralyzed by shock as he stares at the blanket for several long moments, then he reaches up and takes the blanket from him.  

“My parents.” He answers, voice very small.

The words hang in the air, for what feels like forever.

Seungcheol’s already got his mouth open, more from stunned surprise than because he has any idea of what he’s going to say.

“It’s my baby blanket—from when I was a new-born.” Jihoon continues, thumbing the soft fleece, the stitching in the corner with his initials. He laughs, a little brokenly, a harsh rattle in his chest, as if he can’t quite breathe. “I’m surprised they even _kept_ it.”

Seungcheol swallows tightly. He’s even more at a loss of what to say here.

An envelope drops to the floor between them when Jihoon unfolds the blanket. Seungcheol picks it up, holds it out towards him.

Jihoon wrinkles his nose at it, expression shuttering. “I don’t want it.”

“You don’t want to read it?”

Jihoon gives him a darkly exasperated look. “Of course not. Why would I?”

Seungcheol glances down at the envelope in his hand. It’s plain white, unaddressed, and too heavy to just be a card.

“What do you want me to—” He tries, fumbling for something helpful he can do.

“Trash it.” Jihoon interjects, with a lightness that Seungcheol doesn’t believe for a minute. He folds the blanket and pushes into Seungcheol’s hands. “Trash this too.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth and then stops, clocking the fact that Jihoon isn’t joking, and has to swallow past the sudden ache in his chest.

He hates that despite all the things he can offer his mate, there is still just one thing he can’t fix.

"Alright," he murmurs, slipping the envelope into the folds of the blanket and taking it with him.

Jihoon doesn’t say another word, already returning his attention to their pups.

“Hmm,” He’s saying, pleased. “Oh, yes, it’s good, it’s num-num, isn’t it?” He coos, pretending to notice nothing, feel nothing, but Seungcheol knows.

Seungcheol walks down the corridor towards the front door, pauses with his hand on the handle, staring down at the blanket folded under his arm. Glancing back towards the kitchen warily, he lifts the blanket to take a slow sniff.

There’s nothing to smell really, just wool and baby powder and the lingering scent of moth balls, but when he imagines a small baby Jihoon sleeping nestled in it, he can’t bring himself to throw it away.


	2. It's a full time job

4 MONTHS

The twins are four months old now.

They’ve started babbling, strings of nonsense syllables, repetitive little phonemes. They’re progressing with their hand-eye coordination too, starting to use their fingers like a claw to rake toys closer to them, sometimes pulling things to their mouths to discover what they mean. They giggle and coo, hold their heads up more consistently, pushing up onto their elbows and working on rolling front to back. They respond to their names and they know Jihoon and Seungcheol’s voices, turn towards them.

Jihoon’s constantly amazed over how different they are. Despite being twins and how young they still are, they have their own unique personalities, their own likes and dislikes.

As much as Haru took to Seungcheol’s parents and his brother Seungmin pretty much immediately, their little girl has an inherent dislike of nearly everyone else—she doesn’t even like people admiring her when they go on a walk, unless she’s snuggled safe in the carrier against Seungcheol’s chest.

Hansol, like most Alphas, is very sociable; he doesn’t so much as make strange as attack anyone who _isn’t_ Jihoon. He’ll smile at strangers and happily be carried by anyone he meets, as long as he can attack them.

Hair, it turns out, is his personal favourite.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in so much pain!” Jeonghan croaks, eyes watering.

There's a slightly hysterical edge to his voice, but Jihoon thinks that's probably fair under the circumstances. Considering what's currently squirming in one of his arms making noises like trying to rip his hair out is the most exciting thing in the world.

“Aww, I think he likes you Hannie.” Jihoon coos, watching from the side lines.

Jeonghan squints at him, “Then why is he _punishing_ me?”

Seungcheol laughs, looking every inch the proud papa. “You think that’s punishment? Consider yourself lucky Hannie, he tried to rip my eyelashes out the other day.”

Jisoo chuckles from the other side of the couch where he’s holding a quietly scowling Haru. She’d fussed a little when Jisoo first held her, naturally, but she’s accommodating him now—just as long as Seungcheol remains in her eyeline.

“I want to swap babies,” Jeonghan announces, as Hansol abruptly goes limp and lets all his weight sag sideways. Jeonghan has to rock him up higher or risk him slithering out of his hands, but Hansol just goes for the hair again, as soon as its in grabbing range. “Swap with me Shua, I want to hold Haru. She seems _safer_.” He says and veers back out of range.

“Nah, I’m good. Me and Haru are bonding.” Jisoo grins, not bothering to hide how amused he is.

“You’ve chosen poorly Haru,” Jeonghan tells her. “You should have formed your alliance with me. I would have spoilt you rotten!”

Hansol, not one to be ignored, blows a raspberry at Jeonghan, spraying him with a generous amount of spit.

Jeonghan squints an eye shut and wipes at his face. “Lovely. Just lovely.”

Jihoon bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.                 

Jeonghan and Jisoo have been visiting more often than ever recently, bringing gifts and taking turns to hold the pups. They’ve even offered to babysit on more than one occasion, and Jihoon wonders if they’re trying the whole parenting thing out for themselves. They’ve been together about as long as him and Seungcheol have, but the concept of settling down and having kids seemed like a distant pipe dream with how busy they both were. Looking at them now though, they’re nothing like Jihoon's memories of them over their last few years together.

They look settled. _Ready_.

It might have nothing to do with wanting a baby of course, but Jeonghan and Jisoo are different. There's no denying it.

Their casual teasing touches have become lingering grips, their fleeting looks have become long gazes. Jisoo’s eyes dart to Jeonghan's every few minutes and Jihoon watches his gaze soften just so when it happens, like just seeing Jeonghan holding the baby pleases him.

“So….you guy’s thinking of having some of your own?” Jihoon pushes the question out into the air tentatively.

Jisoo looks absolutely stunned for a satisfying moment, and then his face comes over with a weird mixture of envy and fondness. “ _Maybe_.”

Hansol chooses that moment to yank Jeonghan’s head roughly to one side, just as Haru decides to deposit her dinner all over Jisoo’s shirt.

“We’ll see.”

* * *

It’s midsummer; long warm days are broken up by evening thunderstorms, every window thrown open to catch a breeze only to be slammed shut again when the clouds burst noisily above. Jihoon leaves a leeward pane open in the nursery as he settles the pups for a nap, liking the smell of rain and the chatter of the leaves as they bounce raindrops back upwards.

Haru, _the veritable angel_ , is already fast asleep in the crib—but as usual, her brother is completely boycotting the concept of nap time.

He’s just working out how to sit up and gets very fussy when he’s not allowed to practice — but Jihoon can be stern with him when he has to, and just now he’s determined to be a disciplinarian.

“Not now, Miniature Michelin Man,” Jihoon says to Hansol, pressing his little squirmy body against Jihoon’s chest, horizontal whether he likes it or not. “It’s bedtime now, you can sit on your wobbly butt later.”

Hansol arches his back and shrieks, indignant. His dummy tumbles from his mouth for the one billionth time in the last five minutes and Jihoon scowls and retrieves it, sucks it clean (it’s been a while since Jihoon hoovered, yes, _god_ , the house is always half a disaster) and tries to stuff it back in Hansol’s red yelling mouth.

Hansol will have none of it, turning his head this way and that; he knows the dummy will make him sleepier, the crafty little beast that he is.

“No, too bad,” says Jihoon, hoisting him up—amazing, really, how quickly he got over his fear that the babies were imminently breakable. “Open up. Dada is taking a stand. It’s nap time whether you like it or not.”

Hansol turns his head the other way, tears beginning in earnest now, little wet trails snaking down his temples and over his stick-out Seungcheolian ears.

“Oh, my chubby prince,” says Jihoon helplessly. Gripped by tenderness, he drops a careful kiss on the top of Hansol’s head. “Are you still hungry? If I warmed you up another bottle would that be enough to settle you, my bratty boy?”

Hansol’s a smart baby though, and immediately recognises the word ‘ _bottle’_ and its association with being fed. So Jihoon doesn’t get much further than carrying him into the hallway, before Hansol catches on and shrieks even louder.

A bit desperate, Jihoon plunges a finger into Hansol’s mouth, a trick that hasn’t really worked since the new-born days when he was young enough to be fooled into hoping that an index fingertip would be as comforting as a nipple.

Sure enough, Hansol is completely unimpressed — but he clamps down on Jihoon’s finger for an instant.

“Ow! You bit me!” Jihoon yelps, and pulls his hand away.

Then it dawns on him.

“ _You bit me,”_ He says again, delighted, and pulls down Hansol’s lower lip with his thumb.

And that’s when he sees it: two tiny milk teeth just surfacing from Hansol’s lower gum.

“Look at you,” Jihoon beams, kissing the riotous blonde curls that halo Hansol’s head. “My Teeny-Weeny Jack-o-lantern. Just four months old and you’re already getting your first teeth. And two at once, you giant precocious shit.”

He takes a video for Seungcheol, who’s still stuck at work, and hits send.

Not a minute later, his phone buzzes with a reply: _“My boy! OMFG I’m so excited. I’m leaving work early! We have to celebrate.”_

Jihoon laughs, knowing Seungcheol’s just waiting for any excuse to leave work early these days.

* * *

Jihoon heaves a miserable sigh, letting the jeans fall and pool around his ankles.

The room is littered with all kinds of pants, laid out over the two chairs and the bed, some even carelessly thrown on the floor. 

None of them fit anymore, and _yeah,_ okay—they were ridiculously tight to begin with, but at least he could _zip them up_. Now he’s lucky if he can get them past his ass.

Nursing had its calorie-burning advantages to begin with, but now that he’s mostly out of the postpartum hormone flood, he’s really struggling to shift those last few pounds.

He’s not depressed about it or anything, because that would be ridiculous. He always knew his figure would be permanently altered by pregnancy, of course, but there's still something profoundly dispiriting about having jumped up two pants sizes.

 _I’ll get my old figure back one day_ —he assures himself with renewed determination, even though standing in front of the mirror he can plainly see carrying twins has changed his body in ways he’ll never erase.

Nobody gains 50 pounds in nine months without a few stretchmarks.

Well _—a lot_ of stretchmarks.

Jihoon sighs again, and runs his fingers over the soft lines of pink that curl over his hipbones; ‘pregnancy is beautiful’— _his ass._

He gets a little worked up just looking at them, honestly, staring at his reflection in the floor length mirror. Though Seungcheol has yet to mention them, _or_ the weight gain. But then again, they haven’t had much naked alone time and Seungcheol hasn’t had much opportunity to linger down _there_ as of late.

Not that he thinks Seungcheol would _care_ about the stretchmarks or anything.

Because he wouldn’t.

_Would he?_

* * *

“Look—that’s Daddy’s car. Daddy’s home.” Jihoon coos at Haru, holding her tiny fist up so he can make her wave. “I know he’s your favourite so you can stop scowling now. _Please_?”

Haru looks like she’s thinking about adopting a friendlier expression, but perhaps isn’t convinced the car pulling up in the driveway does in fact contain Seungcheol.

Although she’s 4 months old, she’s only just growing into her 2-3-month clothing sizes, so Jihoon’s dressed her up according to his own tastes. Her tights match her dress and her dress matches the little sweet bow that Jihoon has clipped into her wispy dark hair. By all accounts she is the neatest and most fashionable baby in the history of the universe.

Seungcheol looks grim and grey when he steps out of the car, but then he catches sight of Jihoon and Haru it the front window and abruptly his face comes over all soft and warm and fond.

He almost falls over his own feet twice and leaves the car door wide open in his haste to get into the house and see her. Jihoon is too busy trying not to grin to be put out by the fact that Seungcheol greets her first and him second.

“Give her here,” He says, snapping Haru out of Jihoon’s arms the instant he’s close enough.

Haru coos in delight and pats Seungcheol’s stubble-covered chin with one tiny hand, giggling when Seungcheol growls and mimes biting at her fingers.

“Oh my god.” He begins to fawn over her, as he does every single day he returns from work. “Did Dada dress you up in the loveliest dress today? _Yes, he did_. Is it possible you look even more beautiful and princess than this morning? _Yes, it is._ You are the most beautiful thing in this whole universe. The mooost beautiful. _Yes, you are_.”

Jihoon clears his throat pointedly, feeling slighted.

“Look at her smiling for me!” Seungcheol says, jogging Haru up and down. And sure enough, she’s been scowling all afternoon at Jihoon—but she grins hugely for Seungcheol, till her cheeks look like dimpled bookends.

“Did you miss Daddy? Did you? Daddy missed you and Big Mac too.” Seungcheol coos again. But before Jihoon can get too petulant, Seungcheol’s tipping Haru onto his shoulder and pulling Jihoon in for a kiss. “She’s the most beautiful thing in the universe—but you _are_ my Universe.”

Jihoon feels a tremendous need to roll his eyes just to distract from the blush overtaking his face, “God, you’re such a _dork_.”

Seungcheol grins, eyes dancing between Jihoon’s flushed cheeks, _knowing_ the comment hit the mark.

“Where’s my big boy? Where’s Godzilla, King of the monsters?”

“In the naughty seat.” Jihoon says, gesturing over at their not so little son, busily batting at the stuffed toys hanging over his bouncy chair and sinking his two tiny teeth into the ones he can reach. Having discovered solids, Hansol is lately convinced that every foreign object should be tested for nutritional potential — feathers, bugs, _his little sister’s hand_ , it’s all fed directly into his mouth.

Seungcheol quirks his mouth and looks over at Hansol. “What did he do?”

Jihoon sighs long sufferingly, “Oh, you know—the _usual_. He was trying to eat _everything_ , including his little sister at one point.”

“Uh—oh.” Seungcheol tuts, but he comes close enough to kiss the downy ringlets finally beginning to spring up from the crown of Hansol's head, blond and fly-away. 

Jihoon shrugs, “She was a good sport about it though, bit him back. Except she hasn’t got any teeth yet, so it didn’t do much to discourage him.”

Seungcheol peppers Haru’s tiny face with kisses, then turns to Hansol and adopts his serious parenting face. “Bad boy Hansol. _Bad_. Biting your wittle sister like that.”

Haru seems to approve of the scolding tone, scowling down at her brother as she is.

Hansol stops trying to chew on the rattle in his grip suddenly, to blink big, sad round eyes at them. He seems to understand that he’s being _scolded_ , and of course the only appropriate response is to tip his head back and _wail_.

He’s great at that—the crying. Switches it on and off like a light when he needs to get attention, and can even summon honest to god tears that make Jihoon feel like the worst parent in the world. It stops the second he gets what he wants, so it’s clearly baby amateur theatrics.  

Nevertheless, his melodrama has the desired effect, especially when he starts making grabby hands at Jihoon, like he expects him to take his side.

Jihoon wants to pick him up, to do something to settle him, but he forces himself not to. Instead, he puts his hands on his hips and adopts his own serious parenting face. “No, I’m not picking you up. You’ve been very naughty Hansol.”

Of course, that's when Hansol lets out an outraged half-bawl half-whimper that Jihoon always interprets to mean, _‘You've betrayed me in the worst possible way, and I don't know how I'll ever get over it or be able to forgive you.’_

It’s supremely heart wrenching to watch; Jihoon can feel himself caving.

"Cheol," Jihoon says quietly, trying to communicate his abrupt panic with a meaningful look.

Seungcheol must sense the inevitable defeat too because he calls out, “Don’t do it Jihoon. Don’t fall for it. He’s playing you like a _fiddle_.”

Hansol makes a sad little moan and drops his rattle to the floor with a clatter, pushes out his bottom lip. It shouldn't work; it's blatant emotional manipulation, and Jihoon's learned to resist the best. He can't help the pitiful flip of his heart, though. Maybe Hansol’s learnt his lesson. Maybe they're being unfair, not letting him bite everyone he can get his hands on.

One more sob, and Jihoon's expression crumples instantly, his resolve about as sturdy as a cheap tin roof in a hailstorm. “Oh, I’m so sorry my little plum. Come to daddy.” He coos and steps over to the bouncy chair to scoop Hansol up.

He’s getting heavier by the day, but Jihoon’s got daddy-pipes, nowadays, like the proverbial strong man lifting a calf every day of its life. 

Hansol’s crying cuts off almost immediately when he’s settled over Jihoon’s shoulder, tears practically dissolving into thin air. He coos happily and stuffs a grubby fist into his toothy mouth; mission accomplished.

They should really consider enrolling him in acting classes.

Seungcheol tuts, shaking his head sagely, “I can’t believe _I’m_ going to be the stern one out of the two of us.”

“I can’t stay mad at him. He looks just like you.” Jihoon says, continuing to jiggle Hansol up and down idly, hoping the motion will keep him content. 

“No more biting your sister. Okay?” Jihoon tells him, tapping his nose with one finger.  The many kisses he presses to the top of his head belie any attempt at sternness, however.

“Da…” Hansol burbles, just barely shifting himself around in Jihoon’s arms so he can reach for Seungcheol with chubby hands.

“What’s that? You wanna go to Big Daddy?”

Seungcheol snorts at the questionable nickname, and Jihoon gives him a censorious look as he hands Hansol over so that Seungcheol’s carrying one baby in each arm.

The moment Hansol settles in Seungcheol’s arm, he grins toothily at his sister. She scowls back, possibly not in the forgiving mood right now. It doesn’t seem to deter Hansol, who continues to smile and then slowly reaches a hand up and….smacks Seungcheol on the cheek.

“H- _hey_!” Seungcheol chokes, surprised.

Haru’s surprised by the sudden turn of events too, eyes wide as she peeks at her brother from her perch in the crook of Seungcheol’s arm.

Hansol flails his hand again, manages to catch Seungcheol in the face with another quiet 'slap.’

“Ah, Hansol! Don’t—” Jihoon starts, but Haru’s smiling now, almost laughing. She stuffs her fist in her mouth then giggles around it.

“Unbelievable.” Seungcheol says dryly, as Haru tries to hold back her giggles, using both of her hands to cover most of her rosy face. “You taught him this—didn’t you?”

“I did not.” Jihoon says and shakes his head, palming his mouth to hide exactly how wide his grin spreads.

Hansol seems to take this as affirmation, and slaps Seungcheol again, a little harder this time.

“Ah—no! Naughty Hansol. Don’t hit Big Daddy.” Jihoon waves a finger at him, injecting a little seriousness into his tone.

Hansol looks confused for a split second—then smacks Seungcheol again anyway. It makes Haru giggle happily in response, so Jihoon can’t help but laugh along too.

“Sorry, Cheol—it’s just so cute. He’s trying to make her laugh.”

Seungcheol pouts, displaying some amateur theatrics of his own. “I don’t think this is a good lesson to teach my babies. Violence is not the answer.” He declares, even as Hansol smacks him again.

“Maybe if you pretend to cry, he’ll learn not to do it. Use his own trick against him.” Jihoon suggests with a wink.

Seungcheol seems to consider that option for a moment, then scrunches up his face and pretends to cry.

It’s in no way convincing, and he doesn’t produce any real tears but Hansol and Haru’s giggles die off in an instant.

They stare at Seungcheol with big, round eyes, lower lips quivering, then they stare at each other—and promptly burst into tears.  

Jihoon and Seungcheol quickly scramble to soothe them, “Oh, crap. Bad idea, bad idea.”

* * *

4.5 MONTHS

“A little help here?” Seungcheol mumbles from his uncomfortable position bent over the baby car-seat.

Jihoon is the only who can fit Hansol into his car seat properly. When Seungcheol tries to do it, Hansol grabs onto his hair and promptly tries to decapitate him. Four and a half months old and he’s already trying to claim his title as head Alpha of the family.

Jihoon walks around the car and squeezes himself between Seungcheol and the car door to scold Hansol.

“Hansol— _no_. Let go of Daddy’s hair.”

Hansol immediately obeys but makes grabby hands at Jihoon instead. He longs for freedom from the car seat. Or maybe he just wants to be held. It's too irresistible, his smile so much like the one Seungcheol flashes him sometimes that Jihoon can't help but lean in and snuffle into his neck, making him squeal with laughter.

“Maybe I should put him to sleep before we head out. He’ll settle better if I cuddle him for a while.” Jihoon suggests, testing the straps on the car seat.

He looks up in time to see Seungcheol roll his eyes, “You’ve been cuddling him all morning Jihoon. He’s coddled enough. If he had his way, he’d be holding on to you every waking minute of the day.”

“Just like his Alpha daddy then.” Jihoon offers dryly.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem the slightest bit offended. He grins, _proudly_.

Jihoon straightens up and pats him on the cheek. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I choose to think otherwise.” Seungcheol husks, leaning in for a kiss.

They get as far as brushing their noses together, before Hansol kicks his legs and _squeals_. It happens all the time, like he knows when he's lost the attention of his audience. 

It’s Jihoon turn to rolls his eyes as Seungcheol’s head snaps to the side.

“Look—” Seungcheol begins, waggling a finger at Hansol. “I don’t know what your problem is pup, but you need to stop cock-blocking me and Dada. How do you think you even got here? Huh? _Yeah—that’s right._ Think about that the next time you interrupt us, or you’ll never get another brother or sister.”

Jihoon laughs and smacks Seungcheol on the shoulder lightly, “I’ll lock the door. You finish buckling him in.”

Keys in hand, he dashes up the front steps quickly and locks the door. Returning to the car again, he finds Seungcheol doubled over Hansol’s car seat, struggling to detach Hansol’s tiny fists from his hair. _Again_.

“Uhm—A little help here.” Seungcheol whelps. “I don’t know how he does it, but he got the drop on me again.”

* * *

Hansol is crying.

Jihoon staggers out of the bed, trying to force the kink out of his neck as he stumbles down the darkened hallway.

He has his hand on the knob of the cracked open door before he remembers the space in the bed next to him was empty, realizes the baby isn’t crying anymore. Through the crack in the door, he can see the back of Seungcheol’s shoulders on a lap from the crib to the window, and the top of the Hansol’s head against his shoulder.

Seungcheol’s singing “Hush, Little Baby,” in a dry, sleepy rasp, and Hansol’s snuffling quietly into his neck, dummy moving every few seconds as he sucks on it intermittently.

He seems mostly settled now, running his little fingers back and forth over Seungcheol’s bicep, sweet little face lax with sleepiness. And although they often joke that Jihoon is Hansol’s undisputed favourite parent, there’s a special peace he seems to feel in Seungcheol’s arms. As if he’s sure the world can’t hurt him while he’s there.

Come to think of it, Jihoon can relate to that, more than a little bit.

It takes a few minutes to settle Hansol in. No matter how tired he is, the kid always puts up a fight, squirming and grunting, kicking his onesie-covered feet against the bottom of his crib; but Seungcheol’s got his number these days. A little belly rubbing, some mindless noises to the tune of whatever Seungcheol happens to have stuck in his head, and he’s out like a light.

Seungcheol slinks out and shuts the door most of the way, making sure to leave the baby monitor on, like they won’t be able to hear the kid cry from clear across the country. He almost jumps a mile when he turns and finds Jihoon standing behind him.

“Shit!” He hisses, clutching his chest. “You scared me Puddin. Why the hell are you just standing there quietly for?”

Jihoon doesn’t waste a moment, his skin is hot, his senses tingling. He pulls Seungcheol in by the curling neck of his threadbare t-shirt and kisses his beautiful, confused mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t resist or even startle.

From the instant Jihoon’s mouth touches his, Jihoon can sense that Seungcheol is going all in, lighting into Jihoon with a hungry sound, relieved and desperate all at once. For all the desperation in Jihoon's blood, there is matching urgency in Seungcheol's kisses. It's achingly clear his mate has missed the intimacy too. The Alpha holds Jihoon steady with one hand on his jaw, the other at his waist while Jihoon can’t settle on where to hold onto him in return, gliding hands greedily over every plane of him, the solidity and strength coiled in his arms, his shoulders, his chest.

Jihoon's lips are tingling by the time he finally eases back far enough to look Seungcheol in the eye. His senses are spinning for want of air, and his entire body feels deliciously warm.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen you do.” He whispers— _pants,_ actually.

Seungcheol lifts an eyebrow, quirking his mouth, “Really? Putting our son to sleep?”

Jihoon muffles his answering ‘ _Shut the fuck up'_ against Seungcheol’s smug mouth, rubbing his hands roughly against his back, not careful of him at all.

Seungcheol's giving back as good as he's getting now, breaking the kiss to scatter none-too-gentle bites across Jihoon’s neck and shoulders. His fingers dig into Jihoon’s ass for purchase, hard and demanding and Jihoon melts under them, into them, basically ready to do _anything_ Seungcheol wants as long as it means Seungcheol stays  _right exactly_  where he is.

“Are we really doing this right now?” Seungcheol asks, even as his hands slide up and under Jihoon’s pyjama shirt.

“Yes, yes, now.” Jihoon rasps, dizzy with Seungcheol’s scent, feeling the want claw at his gut sudden and rough.

In one quick swipe he tugs Seungcheol’s waistband down and pulls out his cock, then shimmies his boxers low over his hips.

Until a few weeks ago, he would have taken total, naked advantage of the situation and dragged Seungcheol to the nearest bed. But neither of them can afford to waste a second relocating, and the thought of stripping down in front of Seungcheol now, a constant ode to male physique, is in no way appealing.  

“Quickly.” Jihoon gasps, twisting out of Seungcheol’s grip so he can brace his hands against the wall.  “Get your dick in me. They could wake up any second!”

Seungcheol scrambles to get in position, hands curling around Jihoon’s hips. “Jesus, don’t _jinx_ it!”

This is what parenting has reduced them too: frantic, spur of the moment sex in a darkened hallway.

After the initial surge of post-pregnancy hormones, Jihoon’s natural heat cycle has been slow to resurface. Perfectly normal, the doctor had assured him, just a combination of stress and exhaustion taking its toll on his body.

Occasionally he’ll have desperate pseudo-heat surges; moments where his body becomes suddenly and unbearably warm, painfully hypersensitized, and usually at the most inconvenient of times. In those moments, any contact with Seungcheol has him wanting to tear his clothes off, spread on the nearest flat surface and _beg_. But they’ve never gotten further than a few naked, hungry kisses before, _inevitably_ , their pups interrupt them with an ear-piercing wail and their priorities switch.

Tonight, it seems, is no different.    

“Oh my god.” Jihoon huffs, slumping forwards against the wall at the sound of Hansol’s crying; they just can’t catch a break. “You were right. He absolutely is a little cock-blocker.”

Seungcheol chuckles behind him, pressing a swift kiss to his nape as he pulls up his sweatpants. He slips into the nursery to check on Hansol, and after a second’s hesitation, Jihoon is hot on his heels.

“Let’s face it.” Seungcheol begins, lifting Hansol out of the crib to do a quick diaper check. “We’ll have to wait till he’s 18 and moving out before we can ever have sex again.”

Jihoon makes a horrified face at him.

“Seungcheol that’s not even funny.” He says, crossing his arms. “That’s a real possibility. With the rate this is going, my ass will get so tight I could crush walnuts with it.”

Seungcheol’s answering smile is broad and delicious and slow-curving. “I’ll talk to my parents. Ask them to baby-sit so we can—”

“Yes—yes!” Jihoon interjects desperately. “Whatever. Do it.”

* * *

“We’ve already re-arranged three times.” Seungcheol’s voice is a bit wrong, somehow, gritty and tense and worn even over the phone.

Jihoon looks down at Hansol— noisy and wiggly and busily sucking — then around the disaster area of the nursery. “I know, but we can re-arrange again. Hansol’s extra clingy today, and I think Haru has a little bit of a temperature.”

“Her temperature was fine when I checked it this morning, and King Size is always clingy because you spoil him.”

Jihoon scoffs, “No, I don’t!”  

Seungcheol chuckles, and the sound is warm with affection. “You let him sleep in our bed last night, even though it’s against the rules.”

Jihoon pulls a face, but of course Seungcheol’s right. “That’s because he wouldn’t settle, and I didn’t want him to disturb his sister. She gets very cranky when she doesn’t get her sleep you know.”

 _“Like someone I know.”_ Seungcheol drawls.

Jihoon ignores the barb—it's not undeserved under the circumstances.

Hansol has finished up the formula and is now sucking at nothing but air. Nevertheless, Jihoon practically has to wrestle the nipple out of his mouth. His son really loves his food.

“I still think tonight’s not a good time.” Jihoon continues, even as Hansol wails his displeasure right in his ear. “Even if the pups settle, the house is a mess and I hate handing it over to your parents in such a state.”

“There’s always going to be reasons to cancel Jihoonie.” Seungcheol says.

It would almost be an idle comment, but Jihoon knows better. He opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it, reconsidering. 

They _have_ postponed their date night several times now, and really, they could do with some one on one quality time….

But the house _really_ is in chaos and Jihoon has a to-do list long as his arm: things that need fixing, calls Jihoon needs to make, new clothes for Hansol because he’s growing like a weed and some more for Haru, because she’s a princess and deserves more beautiful dresses.

A night or two away from the pups would mean a babysitter—and Jihoon will be damned if he leaves his precious cargo with some irresponsible teenager, or even worse—Seokmin and Soonyoung. So Seungcheol’s parents will have to babysit. And _yeah_ —they’re over the moon about it and have been offering for months, but there’s that whole worry and rush too and he hasn’t got anything to wear and feels about as sexy as a used diaper.

On the other hand: there’s an overnight stay at a luxury hotel on the cards, and the promise of eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. _With Seungcheol._

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just go.” Jihoon answers, already making a new list in his mind.

“ _Okay_. I’ll call the hotel and cancel,” Seungcheol says, then audibly startles when he realises what Jihoon’s just said. “Wait—what? You’re ready to go?”

“That’s what I just said.” Jihoon intones, popping Hansol’s pacifier back into his wet pink Seungcheol-looking mouth, “Or are you so used to me cancelling you didn’t bother booking a hotel this time?”

“No—I booked!” Seungcheol says hurriedly, clearly missing the teasing tone in Jihoon’s voice. “Five stars. Private hot tub—a masseuse on speed dial and dinner in their Michelin star restaurant.”

“Really? That sounds amazing.” Jihoon grins, amazed and a little excited. He jostles a burp from Hansol with the reflexive squeeze of his arms. “Okay, so it’s settled. We’re going out tonight. I need your cock.”

“I need your cock too!” says Seungcheol, unexpectedly.

* * *

"Thanks again," Jihoon says, handing Haru over, "We really appreciate it."

Seungcheol’s father waves him off. "No thanks necessary, it’s our pleasure. It's about time we had the pups to ourselves for a while. And _more_ importantly," he suddenly wears an urgent expression. "It’s about time you and Seungcheol had some quality alone time together. _Hint-hint—nudge-nudge."_

Jihoon ducks his head to conceal a blush, feeling suddenly more shy than he ever has in his life. Though in retrospect, he shouldn’t feel embarrassed around the man who heard him say _‘I want you to use my ass like a cum dumpster’_ to his son. No embarrassment can trump that memory.

From the other side of the room, Seungcheol’s mother laughs. "Ignore him Jihoonie. And don’t worry, they’re in safe hands.”

Jihoon nods, knowing it to be true; Seungcheol's parents are more than equipped to care for his pups.

Hansol is fussing in his bouncy chair, whimpering and beating his little fists on anything in reach. Jihoon wants to pick him up, explain that he’s leaving, and he’ll be back soon, but the knowledge that it will undoubtedly make Hansol more upset when Jihoon hands him back stops him. He lingers for a moment longer though, leaning in to give Haru another goodbye kiss.

That makes six now—in case anyone’s keeping count.

Hansol, not one to be outnumbered on the goodbye kisses scale, spits out his dummy and wails. “Da-“

Sudden doubt strikes.

“If they have trouble settling,” Jihoon starts, half-baked notions of bringing the pups to the hotel with him forming hazily in the back of his mind.

“We’ll keep you updated,” Mrs Choi says firmly, already on Hansol’s case, hoisting him out of his bouncy chair and shushing him gently. Hansol starts fussing almost immediately, but gives up when he’s given a bottle to drink. As long as he’s eating, it seems, one set of arms is as good as another.

“It’s okay Jihoon,” Mr Choi says, patting him on the shoulder. “Go. Enjoy yourselves.”

Jihoon glances down at where Haru's tiny hand clutches at his finger. “Be good for your grandparents my babies, I’ll be back soon,” he murmurs, then detaches and retreats hurriedly, before he can change his mind.

Halfway to the car where Seungcheol waiting, he thinks he hears Haru start to cry; he has to stop himself from doing the same.

* * *

They've not been ambitious enough to venture far, only 30 minutes away to the _InterBurgo Daegu_ , but it’s 5-star luxury with a beautiful view of a park and the Kumho river, and a half hour drive is about as far as Jihoon’s willing to be from his pups right now.

The hotel restaurant is opulent—gorgeous in every conceivable way from the embroidered wallpaper to the gold chandeliers, and yet the elaborate details are largely lost on Jihoon because he can't stop glancing at his phone.

“I’m sorry—.” He mumbles, for the umpteenth time as he pushes his phone away. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

Seungcheol’s smile is infuriatingly fond, “ _Please_ Puddin, don’t apologize. I know it’s not easy for you to let go—I have to do it every day I go to work. It’s harder for you because they haven’t been out of your sight since they were born.”

Jihoon chews on his lower lip, “True, but tonight was supposed to be _us_ time, and I’m ruining it.”

“Easy,” Seungcheol says, and that one word cuts through the spinning wheels in Jihoon's head with the weight of calm. Seungcheol's hand comes over and covers Jihoon's own, squeezes. “You’re not ruining anything. You’re looking out for our pups. It’s natural.”

The warmth of his mate’s hand quells Jihoon’s sudden fever of longing.

Yeah, he needs his pups with him, but they won’t _always_ be with him, it’s nonsense to pretend otherwise. He turns his palm up, grabs Seungcheol's hand back and squeezes it, harder than necessary.

“They’re in good hands.” He announces, assuring himself more than Seungcheol at this point. “I’m glad your parents are with them. Although…I hope they don’t feel like they _can’t_ interrupt us if something’s wrong? They’d call wouldn’t they—If Haru got a fever or Hansol won’t settle?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look judgmental, or like he regrets the evening or anything. He looks amused as he tops up Jihoon’s wine glass, but underneath that, he looks at Jihoon like nobody ever has, and it makes his breath catch.

“My mom has both our numbers, and the hotel room number if she needs us. She won’t hesitate to call if she’s concerned—she knows what it’s like to be away from your pups.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jihoon smiles softly, “They’re fine.”

* * *

They’re both eager to be alone by the time they settle into their hotel room for the night, a lovely honeymoon suite with a direct view of the river.

The concierge had arranged for their bags to be brought up earlier, and the turn-down service has already come and gone, so Seungcheol flips the _‘Do not disturb’_ sign on the door and hangs up his jacket, leaving them truly alone for what feels like the first time in _years_.

It's late enough that the sunset is painting the sky in giddy pinks and purples, a gorgeous view through the enormous window, and Seungcheol ignores it. Stares at Jihoon with as much stillness as he can muster.

“Cheollie, this is too much.” Jihoon huffs, hands on his hips, ever the pragmatist.

Seungcheol glances around the room, at its lavish furnishings and massive four poster bed, then at the chilled champagne and freshly cut strawberries waiting by the minibar. He shrugs affably, “How often do we get to do this though? Shouldn’t we make every moment count.”

“Yes, but—it’s still too much.” Jihoon grumbles, even though he’s running an appreciative palm over the bedsheets, marvelling at their plush softness.

Seungcheol does one quick circuit of the suite, pokes his head into the master bathroom, ensures everything’s in order, then goes to stand behind Jihoon, hands moving easily to cradle his hipbones. 

“Guess what.”

Jihoon cants his head, anticipating the punchline. “Hmm?”

“The en-suite has the biggest shower I’ve ever seen.” Seungcheol tells him, smiling. He steps in closer, toys with the satin buttons on Jihoon’s shirt as he wraps his arms around him. “There’s a hot tub and a steam room, as well as four shower heads with multiple functions and a lot of handles to grip onto— _If you know what I mean.”_

Jihoon tips his head back onto his shoulder and smirks, “That it’s disability friendly? That many a hotel guest has slipped and injured themselves showering, so they installed a bunch of extra handles? Sounds very dangerous, we should avoid it.”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly in his ear, starts working Jihoon’s shirt buttons open with practiced fingers. “C’mon Puddin, let’s shower together.”

“I already showered at home.” Jihoon replies archly, but softens the words with a little smile.

Seungcheol pulls him back against his chest, nuzzles into the bend of his neck. “That’s not the point Jihoonie. We can kick things off in the shower and work our way to the bedroom. I want to lick water off every inch of your body.”

“That’s a—that’s a nice idea and all,” Jihoon says, and suddenly he’s nearly stammering, he sounds so uncharacteristically uncertain. His jaw flickers briefly with some hidden struggle and then he’s breaking out of Seungcheol’s embrace and padding over to the overnight bag sitting on the bed. “B-but you go on ahead without me. I’ll unpack.”

Seungcheol feels off-balance, thrown askew by Jihoon's hesitation.

There's the usual bright burst of anticipation beneath his skin, but also something more. Something ...  _complicated_. Strange in a way things have never been between them, at least not since the first time they fumbled into bed together.

“Are you okay, Puddin?” He asks now, keeping his posture loose by force of will.

“Yeah, yeah— _fine_. I just want to unwind a bit first. Need to take advantage of the peace and quiet while it lasts.” Jihoon explains, meeting Seungcheol’s gaze apologetically.

Seungcheol doesn't know what to make of it, or why his heart pounds faster at the conundrum. He looks at his mate thoughtfully, wondering whether a pout might not help his case. But Jihoon’s already unzipping his bag and rifling through it, so all he can do is nod.

“Okay, but don’t fall asleep on me.” He says, tossing Jihoon a wink over his shoulder.

Jihoon’s composure breaks into reluctant dimples. “ _Please_. As if I’ll miss this opportunity.”

* * *

When he finally emerges from the steam-clouded bathroom, he finds Jihoon has already stripped and settled under the bed sheets. The covers are pulled up so completely that only his hair and the top of his ears are peaking out, but Seungcheol can see the glow of his phone from under the blankets, which means he's probably trying to Skype the pups covertly. Or maybe he’s using it to purchase more obscenely overpriced baby clobber. Who knows.

Jihoon glances up from his phone as Seungcheol approaches, casts an appreciative eye over his physique, which is invariably improved by months of abstinence; sexual frustration, for Seungcheol, is best sublimated by gruelling work out routines.

Seungcheol stretches his arms above his head, enjoying the way Jihoon's eyes follow the movement. Even exhausted as they are, there's a flash of hunger—a wordless possessiveness—in that gaze, and Seungcheol loves it. Uncomplicated. Simple. Ferociously mutual.

“Uh—” Jihoon sighs wistfully, “Your _body_.”

Seungcheol can't resist dropping his towel then, and striking a Hercules pose.

Jihoon rolls his eyes but dimples obligingly anyway. "Get over here," he says.

Seungcheol turns instead, bends one knee and flexes his arm.

"Oh my god—” Jihoon snaps, setting the iPad aside. “Get over here right now and fuck me or I will start yelling," He revises. He means business, now.

Seungcheol steps over to the foot of the bed, anticipation heating the very air between them.

“Get the lights first.” Jihoon announces suddenly, halting his approach.

Seungcheol half-laughs before he cottons on to the fact that Jihoon is serious.

“What?”  

“Turn the lights off and get under the sheets.” Jihoon repeats wearily.

“Since when do we fuck with the lights off?” Seungcheol says, shocked. “Or under the sheets for that matter?”

Jihoon shifts nervously, and there’s something uniquely vulnerable about the way he pulls the quilt a little tighter around him. “Since I gave birth to twins.”

Seungcheol stands there blinking at him, completely stunned.

Now is the moment to say something, to inquire, to ask _what the hell?_ – but Seungcheol is paralysed, knocked numb by the awfulness of his epiphany, by the way everything refocuses around him. He sees the whole evening, Jihoon’s weird hesitation, the string of cancelled dates, in a new light.

Jihoon—his gorgeous, beautiful, breath-taking mate—is feeling insecure?

Despite all Seungcheol’s attempts over the years to convince him otherwise, Jihoon has never been super confident about his looks. If he’s not complaining about his height, it’s his weight—if it’s not his weight it’s his hair, or his _eyes_ or his _nose_ or his _eyebrows_ , or the cute little divot at the top of his butt cheeks.

The list is _endless_.

Seungcheol’s always given these ludicrous notions the attention they deserve, which is to say— _none_. Because in his eyes, Jihoon will always and forever be perfect. The moment they met, Seungcheol knew the Omega was something special. Something unique and brilliant, an improbable gift that the universe had brought into existence specifically for him to love. So, it’s outrageous that he would think something like this.

“Are you embarrassed to be naked around me?” Seungcheol croaks, not quite daring to make it a true interrogative.

“I just don’t feel 100% happy with my body right now.” The words come out in a rush, and Jihoon rolls his eyes quickly afterwards to signal the triviality of this confession. 

Seungcheol hesitates, then decides he can’t risk silence in this case.

“Is that why you wouldn’t shower with me earlier?” He asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He lays a comforting hand on what he assumes is Jihoon's shoulder, only to have it shrugged off with a huff. “Jesus—is that why you ordered a freaking _salad_ at dinner? I knew something was off about that. You hate kale!”

“Are we gonna talk or are we gonna fuck?” Jihoon says on a tired little sigh.

He looks completely miserable, mouth set in an unhappy line. But it’s the shame written all over his face that puts a damper on the mood, more than anything.

“We’re gonna fuck.” Seungcheol tells him, because that’s a given. But when Jihoon makes a half- aborted move for the light switch, Seungcheol is just quick enough to cut him off. “But we’re gonna talk first, because this is fucking ridiculous Jihoon. You don’t want me to see you naked now? _Seriously_? That’s crazy.”

Jihoon gives him a darkly exasperated look. “How about _you_ carry twins for nine months and see how _your_ body thanks you for—”

Seungcheol cuts him off with a kiss, and another, and another. He feels his mate calm palpably under his lips, but he still gathers the bedsheets a little closer instead of unwinding into Seungcheol’s arms like he usually would.

“Your body is fucking perfect.” Seungcheol says against Jihoon’s mouth when they come up for air. “I love everything about you— _everything_.”

“You’re just saying that cause you have to.” Jihoon mutters, sarcastic.

Seungcheol sighs, then reaches for the edge of the bedsheet, tugs it gently in a silent request.

A mulish expression crosses Jihoon’s face and he looks like he wants to argue, but in the end he sighs and lets Seungcheol drag the bedsheet away.

As it flutters low around his waist, Seungcheol watches the way Jihoon’s shoulders tighten and knows that he’s trying hard not to cross his arms defensively.

“I went through so much Bio-oil when I was pregnant.” Jihoon murmurs, his eyes downcast as he crumples the bedsheet between his fingers, battling the urge to yank it back up. “Spent every free minute I had slathering myself _and_ the bump in every cream and ointment that was recommended, because it was all _supposed_ to reduce the stretch marks. But…now look.”

There’s just a little too much desperation to the way he says it; Seungcheol actually feels bad for him.

With a few gentle nudges, he eases Jihoon back to recline against the headboard and settles between his thighs, hands coming to rest on the soft pouch of his stomach. Under his palms, Jihoon’s stomach muscles contract, almost defensively.

“Stop that.” Seungcheol chides gently, “You’re beautiful.”

Jihoon scoffs, “Yeah right.”

“Honestly, I can’t even see what you’re complaining about.” Seungcheol suggests, keeping his tone casual.

Jihoon barks out a single, sharp, “Ha!” He nudges Seungcheol back a little with his foot, gestures in the general vicinity of his belly, cheeks flushed in obvious agitation. “How can you not? _Look_!”

“I _am_ looking.” Seungcheol says, not quite able to see Jihoon’s point. 

His mate is gorgeous, his face and the curves of his body a little softer with the added weight he hasn’t been able to shift after pregnancy. It makes him look vibrant and healthy, alive. Seungcheol lives with a constant need to touch him, to make sure that they really did something so unexpected and wonderful together, and now is no different.

“I don’t understand what’s got you so worked up Puddin." He says quietly, stroking his hands over Jihoon’s hips.

“Are you blind? Look at this. And this—and _this_.” Jihoon spits, pointing. His eyes are a little red, and Seungcheol thinks for a horrifying moment that he might start crying.

He looks down at Jihoon’s belly, assessing. There are a scattering of reflective lines trailing over Jihoon’s hips and stomach like ivy; pale pink at the edges, fading into an off-white sheen where the skin has lost some of its elasticity. They’re more prominent over the crest of his hipbones, but even then, they’re so faint and almost _translucent_ in places Seungcheol has to _really_ squint to see them.

“What? _These_?” Seungcheol huffs, running his fingertips over their barely-there ridges.  

Jihoon bites his lower lip, drops his chin. "Yeah—stretchmarks."  

Seungcheol leans in and presses his lips to the skin over Jihoon’s hipbone, where the lines are more vivid. He gives it only the gentlest of nips, before tracing his tongue along one scar.

“ _No_ —don’t.” Jihoon grumbles, throwing an arm over his face.

Seungcheol only grins in answer and begins laying wet kisses along Jihoon’s stomach and hips, while his Omega shies away in embarrassment. He licks a wet stripe over Jihoon’s belly, following a line of tiger-stripe stretch marks up to his navel. It’s still a shallow dip and Seungcheol licks inside, making Jihoon, who’s ticklish as hell, to squirm and laugh.

“Idiot.” Jihoon hisses at him.

He’s still hiding behind an arm, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears are tinted a lovely shade of pink.

Seungcheol continues kissing, not deterred in the slightest, and then both of Jihoon’s hands are in his hair, encouraging and guiding him where it feels good.

Seungcheol follows his lead willingly, kissing and laving every bit of skin he can reach before he returns to Jihoon’s navel and sucks a kiss into the spot right under it. He worries the skin with lips and teeth until he’s left a mark that’s already turning a dark red. Jihoon whimpers, a high and needy sound, and keeps him right in place with his hands, back arching and feet skidding on the sheets. 

“You’re so beautiful. A wet dream.” Seungcheol rasps, stroking a rough thumb over the mark and pressing down. It earns him a soft moan and a muffled, “ _Liar_.”

Seungcheol bends and blows a raspberry on Jihoon’s stomach that, to his utter delight, has Jihoon giggling with surprised laughter. “Never. Not about this.”

Jihoon withdraws one hand, strokes over Seungcheol’s cheek and lifts his chin so Seungcheol has to look up at him. “I love you so much, you giant dork.”

He’s smiling, dimples and all, and Christ, the sight of him does funny things to Seungcheol’s equilibrium.

Not wasting a second, Seungcheol crowds in against him, fitting their mouths together in a deep kiss that takes them from  _slow heat_  to  _burn_  in an instant. He laps at Jihoon’s upper lip—that adorable bow that taunts him when Jihoon is all buttoned up and serious—grunting when Jihoon responds by nipping at him impatiently, licking deep into his mouth and sliding his tongue against Seungcheol in a filthy caress. 

Jihoon’s feverish with the burn of heat already, and Seungcheol groans at the warmth coming off his naked skin, the satiny texture of it against his own bared flesh. He draws back with a last lick over the roof of Jihoon’s mouth, finds his mate looks completely undone, flushed, mouth red and slick and Seungcheol flushes hotly, his brain stuck in a litany of  _mineminemine_.

Jihoon’s fingers dig into his shoulders and he tugs him closer with the heel of his foot. There’s a generous pool of slick soaking the sheets between his thighs and Seungcheol feels himself growing fully hard at the sight. He wants, _needs_ to fuck Jihoon and mark him from inside so badly he can _taste_ it.

Jihoon meets his gaze, eyes bright and challenging, and Seungcheol only keeps himself from coming with a vicious squeeze to his balls. 

“C’mon Cheol—what are you waiting for!” Jihoon hisses, bunching the bedsheets with an impatient fist.

Seungcheol barks a laugh at this unexpected little fit, because yes, this— _this_ is his precious puddin.

It's a damn good thing they have all night to themselves, and no obligation to be anywhere in the morning.

* * *

Seungcheol fucks him slow and sweet for a while — face to face with Jihoon on his back, knees by his ears, Seungcheol’s thumbs holding Jihoon open so he can watch better, see where they’re joined—and then fucks him with somewhat less elegance, harder, faster, Jihoon facedown and ass-up and kept from colliding with the headboard by virtue only of his grip on the wall in front of him. Finally, Seungcheol pulls out before they knot and flips Jihoon over, sucks him off with three fingers holding him open still, and then jerks himself until he spills white and vulgar over the milky smooth lean planes of Jihoon's belly.

“ _Cheollie_.” Jihoon huffs immediately after, “Why’d you pull out?”

Seungcheol eases his fingers out, shushing Jihoon’s little whine of need.

“Cause you always fall asleep when I knot you. Can’t having you doing that just yet.”

Swiping his fingers over the mess on Jihoon’s stomach, he sits back on his heels and reaches behind himself. Under Jihoon’s hungry gaze, he quickly opens himself up with one, two fingers.

“Been a while since we’ve done this …” he takes a breath, easing into the stretch. “Gonna be even longer since we get to do it again.”

He quickly gets in position over Jihoon’s lap and takes hold of his cock, already hard again and flushed an angry red. Jihoon immediately lets out a strangled moan at the touch, arching into Seungcheol’s palm.

Seungcheol sinks down and takes the full length in one slide. It burns— _Oh fuck_ , it’s been too long—his entire body going hot and cold at the same time, blood roaring in his ears. But it’s a sweet, sweet burn that sets his nerves on fire, and every cell of his being is suddenly screaming out with the need to move _now_.

Jihoon practically screams when Seungcheol starts to move, finally getting the friction and pressure around his cock he’s been long denied. “Oh god, oh fuck.  _Fuck_.”

Seungcheol grunts an undignified sound of pleasure, but even more satisfying is the way Jihoon’s hips stutter upward without conscious intent. Seungcheol is expecting it, rides with it as the movement forces the head of Jihoon’s cock to brush against his prostate.

“Yes—fuck,” Seungcheol leans back on his heels and starts riding him in earnest. His mouth drops open, wet and pink, eyes blinking heavily with pleasure.

“I don’t actually think this is what the doctor meant,” says Jihoon, skidding fingertips up Seungcheol’s thighs, grabbing hold, “when she said I could try penetrative sex again.”

“Hnn, but I missed you inside me,” says Seungcheol, unrepentant, working his hips down over and over, greedy.

Neither of them can last long like this. They’re too eager, too worked up, and  _too close_ —

It doesn’t take long for Jihoon to tip over the edge again, sobbing, hips bucking wildly. The erratic movements shove his cock against Seungcheol’s prostate, and he comes seconds later, spending himself all over Jihoon’s trembling stomach with his own frantic moan.

Seungcheol’s orgasm is a nova of too much sensation, slow to abate, and he collapses on top of Jihoon, face buried in sweaty strands of blonde hair.

An eternity passes until Jihoon’s fidgets convince him to roll off. Seungcheol takes advantage of the fact that he’s apparently fucked Jihoon into a near-coma and snuggles that limp, sweaty body against him with a heavy arm. He’s exhausted and feeling kind of filmy—they’re both one sticky mess with spunk just about  _everywhere_ —but he’s never been happier to just lie there, staring at the side of Jihoon’s face.

Jihoon… who gives one last, full-body shiver and makes the most adorable kitten-mewl noise in the back of the throat. Jihoon, who lulls his head to the side and blinks at Seungcheol from heavy-lidded eyes. His precious puddin, who smiles at him like Seungcheol just slayed a bloody dragon or some equally romantic shit and says, “Boy did I miss your ass.”

* * *

By the time Seungcheol gets around to knotting him, Jihoon's too far gone to feel it, really, which is a pity, but he knows when Seungcheol is coming anyway because he knows that little sweet sound Seungcheol makes, that abrupt deep stillness, and the way his fingers knead in and out of Jihoon's sides as the base of his cock swells.

He’s awake again by the time Seungcheol pulls out slowly, and he can't help a pleased laugh at the feeling of it, the slip of Seungcheol's cock so much wetter than it went in.

“ _God_.” Jihoon sighs happily, sweaty and sticky and embarrassingly breathless, “Let’s not leave it so long next time. I don’t want to go through cock withdrawal again.”

Seungcheol grunts something agreeable and sprawls out on the bed next to him, his mouth an insistent curl. Jihoon hasn't seen him this properly fucked out in ages — possibly not since his last rut.

Which, come to think of it, is _way_ overdue.

“Wait a minute—when’s your next rut due?” Jihoon asks, curious.

Seungcheol blinks, obviously trying to clear his vision and his head, but he sounds slurred when he says, “Honestly, I have no idea. I was due about two months ago, but it never came.”

Jihoon rises on one elbow to blink at him, “Is—is that _normal_?”

Seungcheol shrugs lazily, “Could be. The doctor said an Alpha’s sex drive can go into hibernation for a while after their mate gives birth, so maybe that’s what’s happening. I guess my body realised we really didn’t have time for non-stop sex with two pups to care for, and delayed it or something.”

“Huh.” Jihoon says, slumping back against the pillow.

“A blessing really when you think about it.” says Seungcheol, very quietly. He lifts his head off the pillow to arch and eyebrow in Jihoon’s direction. “Can you imagine trying to feed and change the pups while I’m waltzing around naked, trying to mount you?”

Jihoon can’t help it; he breaks into small giggles, hysterical, and then the laughter broadens and deepens until he’s wiping at his eyes, helpless.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” says Seungcheol, looking over, blinking, “I was shitting myself with worry for a while.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Jihoon giggles, plastering himself against Seungcheol’s side until he can throw a leg over his thighs. “I just remembered that time you went into rut and I didn’t realise it, and I yelled at you to go get dressed and left for college. Then when I _did_ realise and rushed home, I found you trying to stick your head through your shirt’s armhole.”

Seungcheol tries to look offended but can’t manage it; he huffs out a smothered laugh and then gives up, lets go of the whole thing. “I don’t remember that.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes and lets a teasing smile curl at one side of his mouth. “Hmm, well I do. You were so cute, by the way—trying to do what I told you to, even though you were half out of your mind. So cute.”

“Cute is not _usually_ a word people use to describe Alpha’s in rut.” Seungcheol says after a minute, smiling askance at him.

“Oh, but you’ve always been special.” Jihoon purrs. He shifts to sprawl over Seungcheol, kisses the side of his neck and murmurs, “My soft, sweet Alpha.”

Seungcheol laughs quietly, dipping down to nuzzle Jihoon’s neck.

“ _Hoon_.” He grunts, and the expression warms Jihoon's chest with possessive affection.

* * *

There’s no telling when they’ll get another quiet moment together, so they decidedly make the most of their peace and quiet. After another thorough round of fucking, they finally hit the shower together, order room-service, then find a sci-fi flick on the TV and settle in on the room's wide, comfy bed.

A quarter of the way in, Jihoon’s phone buzzes on the night stand, startling him out of his trance.

He lunges for it, almost falling off the bed in the process. “Shit!”

“What? Who is it?”, asks Seungcheol, catching the room service tray before it topples and lowering the volume on the television.

Contrary to Jihoon’s expectations, it’s not an SOS from Seungcheol’s parents demanding they return immediately to tend to their pups. The sharp surge of adrenaline was for nothing, because it’s just a friendly text, from Junhui.

The thing is, Jihoon should feel relieved. Knowing his pups are safe and content and clearly not missing them at all, should dissolve away any lingering guilt he’s feeling right now. But he doesn't feel anything near relief. He feels a little bit sad and a little bit scared, and it's not rocket science figuring out why.

_Stupid fucking hormones._

“Ugh—it’s just Junhui.” Jihoon grouses, flopping over onto his back, “He’s inviting us over to a BBQ next weekend.”

Seungcheol snorts messy laughter, “Yes, it’s _awful_ when our friends include us in their lives. How dare they!”

Jihoon waves him off easily, “I just thought it was your mum, updating us.” He exhales quietly, tired and exasperated and anxious, “I’m happy the pups are okay, but the radio silence is unnerving. I miss them.”

“I know pudding, me too.” Seungcheol chuckles, leaning over to kiss to the tip of Jihoon’s nose. He yawns, expansively, and sets about extracting himself from the bed. “I’m gonna go fetch some more ice. Be back in a second.”

Jihoon hums something agreeable, too distracted to look up from his phone as Seungcheol dresses and slips out of the room.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, and Seungcheol still hasn’t returned from his ice fetching adventure.

His prolonged absence combined with the radio silence from the babysitting crew has Jihoon feeling crabby. He paces the room for a bit, flips through the TV channels and surfs on his phone for a spell. He waits until Seungcheol’s been gone for forty minutes before he calls down to the reception desk and asks the concierge to make a PSA along the lines of   _‘Choi Seungcheol, get your ass back up here ASAP, or I’m going to start yelling’—_ but apparently the hotel’s public address system is reserved for ‘emergency situations’, and lost Alpha’s on ice fetching errands don’t qualify.

He’s just setting the phone down when he hears the hotel room keypad beep, and the door swing open.

“Where have you been?” He calls out, irritated.

“Sorry, gimme a sec,” Seungcheol begins, sounding breathless.

Jihoon can hear him shuffling about in the next room, clearly struggling with something heavy. How much ice do they need? _Jesus_.

Scooting off the bed, he yanks a dressing gown off the chair, ties it around himself and steps out of the bedroom.

“You’ve been gone for ages, It can’t take that long to—” He stops in the doorway, taking in the sight of his mate struggling to toe of his shoes whilst balancing both their pups.

Haru is fast asleep in her car seat, unbothered by a change in environment, as is her way. Hansol on the other hand, is wide away and held in the crook of Seungcheol’s right arm. His eyes saucer when he sees Jihoon and he spits his dummy out before trying to hurl himself out of Seungcheol’s grip to reach him.

“Oh my god, Cheol.” Jihoon whimpers, scrambling over to catch Hansol before he can lunge himself towards him.

Almost immediately, Hansol latches onto him, curling his tiny fists into Jihoon’s dressing gown and silently conveying the message: _So you thought you could escape from me. Think again._

“Hello _Sollie_.” Jihoon coos, “Daddy missed you guys so much. Did you miss me? _Hmm_?” He says, pressing his nose blissfully into the top of Hansol’s scalp.

Then, he turns and smiles at Seungcheol—who’s smiling back, face so open and fond that Jihoon’s heart misses a beat. It happens a hundred times a day, it seems, that Jihoon gets dizzy with the knowledge that this is his Mate, and his pups—his life, not exactly how he imagined it once upon a time, but exactly as he’s always wanted it.

“Cheol, I can’t believe you—”He swallows thickly, “—you went home and brought me my babies.”

Seungcheol ducks his head sheepishly, “I couldn’t bear to see you anxious. I knew you wouldn’t relax till you saw them again.” He explains, setting Haru’s car seat down on the table.

Unhooking the changing bag looped around his neck, he carefully eases a sleeping Haru out of her cocoon of blankets and settles her against his chest. She doesn’t open her eyes, doesn’t so much as make a peep.

“I asked the concierge to bring a mobile crib up for them to sleep in.” Seungcheol says, tracing his fingers down the lines of Haru’s little arms, her back, her cushy diapered bottom. “It should arrive any minute, but Sol might need another feed before we put him down; he was sleeping when I got home.”

Jihoon winces. “Oh god, I’ve caused such hassle. Were your parents pissed?”

Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head, “No— _of course not._ They understand; they were in the same position once too remember. Besides, I booked them into a room a few doors down, so they can take the pups off us the morning and we can have breakfast and hit the spa together.”

Heat and gratitude coil in Jihoon's chest, and he smiles so wide he thinks his face might split in two. It’s hard to speak, hard to swallow around so much emotion. So he just steps in close until Seungcheol puts an arm around him, pulls him in so that Hansol and Haru are snug between their bodies.

“You’re a fucking saint, you know that.” Jihoon murmurs, looking up at his mate.  

Seungcheol's face lights up. He preens, but only for a second.

"Well if I’m a saint," He begins, kissing Haru’s temple, then Hansol’s, and then leaning over to kiss Jihoon’s too. “Then you must be heaven."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the cheese festival. Please help yourself to some cheese, there's plenty to go around. I have all kinds of cheese for you to enjoy. Please say you'll have some cheese at the cheese festival.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Hello. I guess it was about time I re-visited this series and finished the story. I've also had a few requests for more baby Hansol and Haru content, so here you go.  
> 2) It's going to be...kind of long compared to the other fics in the series as it will probably be the last. And I want the fic to span over several years.  
> 3) Hope you enjoy reading and feedback is always appreciated.


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